Sighting
by Estele
Summary: And sparks fly every time they meet. A chronicle of the times that Prince Arthur of Camelot encounters Princess Morgana of Cornwall.
1. The First Time

The first time they meet, it is on a battlefield.

He sees her first, dark hair swirling with the flash of blades, and cuts his way towards her.

Arthur Pendragon knows that the easiest way to defeat an army is to strike at the head.

So he fights his way through the gore, slicing and butchering human flesh, until he can see the green vividness of her eyes. And her beauty stops him short for a while, before he remembers who he is facing and what he must do.

Ending her life may very well be the blow he needs to bring Cornwall down to its knees.

Camelot has felt the repercussions of waging a long and difficult war. He is tired of spending day after day fighting yet another battle with her army. She is a worthy foe, and for some reason she seems to delight in silently taunting him, leaving him bound defending this godforsaken plain with a token force time after time.

She never attacks first- it is almost as if she is simply holding him off to prevent him from reaching Cornwall. Tales of her military prowess as well as her inhuman beauty has reached Camelot; her name is cursed at by the nobles, who want nothing more than to have conquered Cornwall. Camelot's army has not even been able to reach Cornwall's borders.

It was once said that King Uther and Duke Gorlois of Cornwall were the staunchest of friends and the greatest of allies. Formerly a king, Gorlois had even degraded his kingdom to a duchy bound to Uther's kingdom. It was said that they would have conquered the entirety of Albion had they remained such. But all that changed when Igraine had died in childbirth and Uther had started his Great Purge. Knowing his wife and his daughter were sorceresses, Gorlois attempted to dissuade Uther from carrying out his plans. Uther had taken it as betrayal, and Gorlois too decided that it was in Cornwall's best interests to break all ties with Camelot and regain its status as a kingdom. Since then, the two kingdoms had always been at odds.

The first years were the worst. After a brief and bloody war in which Camelot had learned that Cornwall was no mean foe, Uther turned his attentions inwards, to the Great Purge. The uneasy peace- if one could call it peace- lasted a little under twenty years. Perhaps Uther truly had been ignorant of the fact, or he had thought it better to turn a blind eye before, but Cornwall's agents had constantly been evacuating magic-users and those opposed to Uther. When it grew rampant and three villages actually capitulated to Cornwall, Uther had decided to declare war. And so this war had started, with Camelot's young prince forced to take his place at the forefront with his knights. Little had he known that the second daughter of King Gorlois, born in the shadow of the Purge, had also assumed command of the troops as a general.

He watches her for a while, and it is as if they are the only two people in the world- then he sees his chance and seizes it, gracefully swinging his sword under and up. He almost lands a blow. Almost. As if she was expecting it, or somehow sensed his presence, she sidesteps aside and whirls around, slicing open the man she had been fighting. She focuses her attention on him and him only- never speaking, but noting his every movement.

A twitch, and they are both charging at each other with a charged ferocity they always reserve for each other, parrying one another's blows and raining down savage attacks. Her agility matches his strength and they are at a draw more than half the time, except this time Arthur is planning to take her down by any means. So as Leon slowly approaches her with sword aloft to strike the death blow, Arthur tries to distract her as much as possible. But again his plans are foiled as- curse her inhuman prescience- she realizes what he is attempting to do and takes Leon out with a well-aimed kick. But that moment has given Arthur the opening he needs; he takes advantage of her shifted balance to strike out at her neck.

Her eyes flash gold. He is thrown back to the muddy ground, and cannot stop staring as her chest heaves with the exertion. She has never used magic before in all their skirmishes. It reminds him just what an uneven playing field they have. She steps forward silently and points her sword at his throat, and he can't say anything. But then Merlin-stupid idiot that he is-springs in front of him and tells her, "You can't kill him! He has a destiny to fulfill- ". She only smiles, and her eyes flash gold again, and there's a short silent pause between them as if they are communicating until Merlin shakes himself out of it. He nods and says a curt "thank you" before pulling Arthur up. Morgana walks away with as much poise as if she was in a ballroom. Arthur can do nothing but stare.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey everyone; this is my first story on fanfiction- hope you enjoyed! In case you are one of those people who actually want to read about the premise of a story, I'll just explain briefly: I always found it strange that Gorlois would let Uther kill his daughter and most likely his wife as well just like that. I mean, has the man no spine? Uther talked about how Gorlois used to stand up to him; I find his actions weirdly contradictory. So I imagined what would happen if he decided to oppose him. Morgana is definitely Gorlois's child- in my story, she's conceived after Arthur is born and Gorlois breaks with Uther. Just because I can. Morgause will be a decent person, because she never had to grow up a power-hungry sorceress seeking revenge. Not that it doesn't suit her or anything, but still. Merlin is Merlin- I hope. Another warning- Guinevere will not be portrayed flatteringly here. I personally don't like her- she seems too bland. The storyline may touch on some of the episodes from the 1st season, but what storyline there is will be different.<strong>

**If you've actually gotten through this massive author's note, internet cookies for you! Thanks for reading!**


	2. The Second Time

The second time they meet is ironically in the dungeons. It is the middle of summer, and he is seething inside. Of course he would be able to escape-_ just that it would take a lot of time_-and even if he didn't Uther would be able to ransom him out. What rankles him is that he had been foolishly captured by King Bayard while hunting- when he returned to Camelot he would have Uther clearly mark the forest boundaries between Mercia and Camelot. Might as well prevent any other poor huntsman from sharing his fate.

The door opens and Arthur is ready to attack the guard, but he freezes in his tracks as _she_ is pushed into _his _cell roughly. (He doesn't know when he became so possessive of _his_ cell.)

She gets to her feet slowly and sees him, then stills. They are not at war anymore- even Uther could not hold out when the army couldn't even launch an attack for months- but neither are they at peace. In subverted retaliation, Uther has increased the number of arrests; double executions are common now. This was the first time in a long while Arthur had been able to get away from his duties. And look where that landed him. Arthur would almost prefer working out guard patrols.

They stare at each other in silence for a while- and Arthur realizes that in all the months they've battled each other, he has never heard her say a single word. They have communicated well enough, her with her flashing eyes speaking volumes at a time. But never has a word passed her lips. He blurts out, "You're Morgana." She looks at him with a single raised eyebrow.

Hours later, they are sitting in the straw of the cell, and he has talked about the difficulties of the war, its toll on Camelot. He has never been good with words, but he cannot stop them from pouring out.

She never speaks, only watching him with those eyes of hers. He seems to find some unspoken acceptance in them, for he continues on for hours, even talking of things he had never revealed to anyone else. His mother, for one.

But eventually-_after hours of talking_- he grows frustrated by her lack of response. Ruffling his hair, he shouts, "For gods' sakes, say something!"

She smiles amusedly, and rises from her seat in the straw where she had been sitting for a while. Morgana walks to the wall where he was leaning on, and puts her palm on it. Suddenly, her eyes flash that unearthly shade of gold, and Arthur flinches. She smirks as the entire wall is blown to smithereens, creating a clear path to outside- and freedom. Perhaps it was by sheer luck, but they had been held in the gatehouse cells and not the conventional underground dungeons- as it was, they only had to sneak out without anybody noticing. When they reach the edge of the forest, she makes a gesture to where Arthur thinks is the way to Camelot- he nods and turns back, and she speaks for the first time that day. "Arthur."

He whips back, gripped by a sudden thought. "You listened to me...blabbering on for hours… when you could have blasted the wall apart in the first

place!"

She smirks again, and for the first time Arthur thinks that her smug grin is getting a tad annoying. Before he can say anything to wipe it off her face, she turns and disappears through the woods.

Arthur is left staring again, this time more in annoyance than anything else.


	3. The Third Time

**A/N: Sorry about the random "new chapter"! I was trying to replace this, and it kept glitching, so I had to delete the chapter and create a new chapter...Sorry!**

* * *

><p>The next time they meet, things are different. Uther has died in the heat of summer and Arthur has ascended the throne. He does not share the extreme beliefs of the late king, and for the good of the people he makes amends for the horrific crimes committed in the name of the Great Purge. Cornwall has ceased to be hostile towards Camelot, and it is only natural -so he argues to himself- that a member of Cornwall's royal family visit Camelot on a state visit to sign the peace treaty that will prevent them from descending into anything like the wars in Uther's time. It is only natural, as King Gorlois and his crown princess Morgause has responsibilities they cannot entrust to others and as the second princess has been the head general of Cornwall's armies in the war, that Princess Morgana come to Camelot for a lengthy visit.<p>

So it is in Camelot's throne room that they meet, Arthur resplendent in his ceremonial robes and a crown gracing his fair head. With the court sorcerer Merlin standing at his right and his advisers behind him, he sits on the throne as she approaches- as a lesser princess, etiquette states that he need not stand for her presence.

She is as graceful now as she was on the battlefield, and Arthur is surprised to see her out of her breeches and tunics and in a regal dress. From the little he knows of her- far littler than what she knows of him, curse his stupid mouth- she has great pride and does not enjoy submission, even as a courtesy. He is tempted to look her in the eyes as she curtseys before him; Cornwall may be a kingdom that has fended off his attacks time after time, but it is weak compared to Camelot. And as a second princess, her standing is much lower than his own. But he cannot spot any sign of displeasure at having to show obeisance- her face is devoid of any emotions.

"Princess Morgana, we are glad to have you here."

She is as brief as ever. "King Arthur."

He is tempted to run a hand through his hair in annoyance, but stops himself. "It has been a while since we last met."

She smiles at that. "Indeed. I am glad this meeting is on more pleasant grounds than a battlefield."

He realizes that she is not acknowledging that day when both of them broke out of Bayards' dungeons. He is relieved- she is saying that she won't use anything he said that day against him. Or for him. But part of him is disappointed that she is pretending that day never happened. Her eyes are as expressive as ever, though, and that makes his stomach turn in a funny way.

_I remember. And I didn't forget._

Guinevere, sweet Gwen. He should be thinking of her right now. He is happily settled-not quite, his subconscious whispers, she is flighty and good and constant all at the same time- and he is just gathering the courage to marry her. She is a lady of good standing-would he have noticed her if she was below his rank?- and he feels different around her. She may speak out for her family and friends, but beyond that she agrees with him on everything. Though she is well-versed in swordsmanship, she is by no means his equal. A proper lady of Camelot- Arthur likes to believe that they would have been happy together, once upon a time. But Guinevere has never set his veins on fire and made his heart pound like she does. She never challenges him, only supports him and is happy as long as her needs are fulfilled. Their courtship has been gentle, sweet, and ordinary- Uther had wholeheartedly encouraged it. Never once has he raised his voice with her.

Now, seeing Morgana kneel before him, he cannot think of Guinevere. Even if she is standing the nearest to the dais, first lady of Camelot in all but name. His mind is occupied by the woman who has proved herself time and again as a worthy adversary, the woman who's staring at him with an eyebrow raised because he's just looking into her face as if he's a lovesick swain- that last thought wasn't quite right and oh dear god she's really thinking that- he shakes himself out of his reverie and bids her a pleasant stay at Camelot before ordering a servant to lead her to her guest chambers. He hopes Guinevere didn't notice.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Morgana sits placidly at his right for a breakfast in state. Her fingers deftly handle the cutlery as she surveys the hall before her. Guinevere, sitting at Arthur's left, nudges at him to at least begin a conversation with the princess. The silence isn't awkward, but Arthur complies and tries to think up an adequate topic.<p>

"I hope you had a pleasant rest," he finally starts. That should be a safe enough conversation. Guinevere smiles approvingly, and he sighs inwardly. Morgana raises an eyebrow as she looks at him.

"As pleasant as could be, my lord. Your hospitality is very much welcomed." She's going through the pleasantries like they're stories already told. But then Arthur notices her lips twitch. "I do appreciate the armed guards at my door."

Arthur- and Guinevere, from what he can see- is a little flustered. He coughs a little, maybe to hide his embarrasment. The guards are ostensibly there to protect the princess from intruders, but he can't deny that they're there to monitor her movements as well. Though no longer forbidden, magic is still a dangerous unknown to Arthur and Camelot. And Princess Morgana is unapologetically magical.

A smirk appears on Princess Morgana's face as Arthur takes a mouthful of bread. "It is always a relief to know my chambers are being watched."

Arthur swallows the food. "I'm glad you are satisfied about the security." He can't help letting a note of sarcasm mix into his reply.

Her eyes narrow a fraction as she retorts, "Oh, I'm sure security is another matter entirely." But her eyes are dancing, and he can't be offended when it's almost playful, this exchange. They finish the meal with only a few more words spoken, and the strange feeling in Arthur's stomach is blamed on having to talk while eating.

Afterwards, the princess is shown around the castle in an official tour by Guinevere while Arthur attends to matters of state. The first of the negotiations for the treaty is scheduled to start the day after, and he needs to have a better understanding of the dynamics between the borders to begin. He is sure that at least one of the region barons in the council will demand recompense for the damages of war as soon as the Cornwall delegation walks in; there should be a way to get him to stay silent for the first meeting at least. Maybe if he asked Merlin nicely.

It has been but a few months since Merlin has revealed his little secret regarding magic. Arthur had rolled his eyes at Merlin's desperate, pleading face as he explained everything and begged to be forgiven; did the boy honestly think he hadn't noticed the blatant use of magic? Arthur had known since around the second time Merlin had saved his life with magic, and it was almost cute how Merlin thought he was being discreet. Though he had spent many sleepless nights trying to decide whether he should uphold his father's law and condemn Merlin to death, Arthur had accepted it long ago. So now Merlin is Court Sorcerer, in fact the only sorcerer residing in Camelot apart from Gaius, who still denies it.

As Arthur looks out the window, if only to stop the endless letters from coalescing in his mind, he notices Guinevere and the princess stopping before a dark-haired man with a neckerchief. Merlin. He looks with interest as the ladies curtsey to the sorcerer. Guinevere leaves while Princess Morgana starts walking with Merlin. It seems they have been introduced, because Arthur can see them striking up an animated conversation. On what, he cannot guess- perhaps they are talking shop about magic. Princess Morgana is in bright green today, and her white skin is almost glowing in the midmorning sun. Arthur watches for a little while, then tears his gaze away when there is a knock at the door.

"Enter," he calls out. Guinevere slips in. She sits herself down elegantly, then lets out a sigh.

"Arthur, I swear that we're going to regret letting Cornwall visit."

He looks at her questioningly, and she continues talking. "The _Princess Morgana_ seems to be using this as an opportunity to gather information on Camelot. She insisted on being shown the armory and the military grounds! And she asks the strangest questions. I was relieved when Merlin came- she seemed willing enough to go with him. It's unnatural, Arthur. She's the one using _magic _and fighting in wars, and she pretends to be such a proper lady. I can't explain it."

Arthur nods and makes sympathetic noises. He agrees that the Cornwall delegation will be reporting every minutiae to their court; knowledge is power, after all. But the rest of Princess Morgana's behavior is none of his concern. At least that he can leave to Guinevere. She complains a little more about other aspects she finds unsettling before she leaves him to his work, stopping to remind him of the feast to welcome the Cornwall delegation this evening.

He sighs after she leaves. The feast means more political maneuvering- something he's going to get enough of anyways as the negotiations commence.

* * *

><p>It's a pleasant surprise when, at the feast, Princess Morgana seems no more inclined to begin the careful dialogue of diplomats sizing each other up than he is. She compliments him on the meal, the wine, the beauty of Camelot; all harmless, light talk. The conversation is so proper and adequately pleasant that it could be cut straight from a book of etiquette.<p>

It's when Arthur mentions her visit to the armory that a spark replaces the politely attentive look in her eyes. He asks, "And did you find anything interesting there, my lady?" and she hesitates just a little bit.

"Camelot's swords are very different from those of Cornwall," she finally replies. Something changes about the way she speaks, and she looks up at him. "Made long enough for a double-handed grip, rather than just single. Are not your knights mounted?"

Arthur grins just a little- is the princess actually going to talk of weapons and swordsmanship with him?- and nods. "Our knights are excellent riders."

She chews her lip, and seems to make a decision. Instead of nodding and moving onto another topic, she continues, "I was wondering how effective such a long handle would be with a cavalry. I find it cumbersome to balance a one-handed grip on a long handle."

She's animated in conversation now, rather than acceptably interested; Arthur's intrigued as well. His stomach twists just a little bit as he meets her green eyes before answering. "We don't usually fight when mounted. Lances are more effective on horseback, and we tend to use our swords when on foot."

"Longer range would be an advantage," she nods, "but isn't it cumbersome to transport lances? I have always found lances to be rather pointless, especially in jousting."

"You don't like jousting?"

"I'm afraid not," she says, gesturing at herself, " it's a little difficult for me to do. But fencing on the other hand..."

Arthur can feel the beginnings of a smile on his lips. "We never finished our last match."

Morgana's smile is almost feline. "I would appreciate being allowed to train with your knights, as would the knights of Cornwall."

He hesitates. On his left, Guinevere is hissing that it's a bad idea, that this is unnatural. He makes up his mind.

"You'd be welcome to join our dawn training, my lady. Although you may find it...overwhelming."

The smile turns too bright, almost mocking. "You're too kind, Sire. I'm sure it'll be an interesting experience."

Arthur finds himself looking forwards to it. It's strange, but Princess Morgana seems to draw his attention somehow. As they continue talking during the meal, the conversation becomes less and less formal and more...bickering. It starts with him boasting about his knights' prowess, countered by her pleasantly barbed comments on his pride, then rapidly degenerates into a rapid-fire exchange of witticisms and veiled taunts. It is almost as if they had known each other since childhood, the way that they banter with each other over the music of the feast. By the time the dancing starts, Arthur is equal parts exasperated and fascinated with the Cornish Princess.

He is obliged to offer the first dance to the princess; he is surprised again when she demurs in favor of letting Guinevere accept his offer. Arthur willingly takes his almost-betrothed's hand and starts on the stately pavonne. Guinevere's chocolate eyes are concerned as she follows his lead.

"I wish you hadn't let her join in your training," she whispers as they turn. It's barely audible, almost a murmur, but Arthur hears it nonetheless.

"Why?" he asks, "It's not as if we're in war anymore."

She shakes her head. "She has the perfect chance to learn more about your knights and their fighting styles. Not to mention how easy it could be for her to attack you if you're training with her. I'm worried, Arthur."

The points that she raises are valid, and they had held Arthur back when he was deciding. Still, as the purpose of her visit was to negotiate a peace treaty, it should not be a danger. And it is not as if they can flat out refuse the guest's request, especially since she will be here for a month at the very least. It would be a chance for Camelot to learn more about Cornwall's troops, and it would be a good training exercise. It is not as if they have never seen each other fight, either. They already know enough about each other from the Cornish Wars that any more information would have negligible effect.

In any case, he cannot go back on his decision now. So he tries to assuage her concerns with soothing words as they move in time to the music. When Arthur returns her to her seat at the end of the dance, she seems relatively reassured.

Morgana nods as he sits back down. "Your lady is an accomplished dancer."

He smiles ruefully. "But I'm not. Poor Guinevere's feet suffer from my lack of skill."

Morgana grins at him. "Perhaps I should have taken that first dance, then. I had merely wished to save _your _feet from being trodden on by me."

He lets a returning grin break out. "I'm delighted to know you weren't merely spurning my attempts at chivalry."

"I wasn't aware that was chivalry. Perhaps you should practice on the delivery."

"As my lady says," he replies.

He doesn't speak more after that, remembering a certain day when he had talked too much. Princess Morgana seems to accept it and starts conversing with Merlin next to her. Arthur can't help listening in- and he can't help thinking that she speaks far more easily with the sorcerer than she does with himself. He refuses to be jealous about it. He also refuses to be jealous about the fact that Merlin is already on first-name terms with Princess Morgana, talking freely without the constraints of court etiquette.

By the end of the feast, he's drunk quite a lot of wine. Princess Morgana excuses herself and leaves with her retinue. Arthur stumbles up as well, cursing the thought of waking up tomorrow for dawn training. A dawn training where the Cornwall knights and the princess would be taking part. And there were negotiations beginning tomorrow as well. He really should have drunk less.

Waking up is going to be hell.

* * *

><p>The clashing of wooden swords fills the meadow as knights spar against each other in dawn training. Rather than continuing with the drills he would usually order, Arthur has decided to match them up with the Cornish knights for friendly matches- with emphasis on the <em>friendly.<em> He stands with the Princess Morgana near the fence, watching the activity around them while nursing a headache. The pulsing in his head has receded just a little, but he's by no means at his best this morning.

Princess Morgana looks a lot more like the general from the war, now that she's in breeches and tunic. Her hair is braided away from her face, and she whirls her own sword impatiently. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"Is there anything you wish for, my lady?"

She looks at him a little uncertainly. Appraising him briefly, she decides to answer. "Perhaps I could interest you in a spar." A small smile appears on her face. "I would enjoy the practice."

Arthur cannot resist the challenge. "If my lady wishes." They walk over to an unoccupied spot in the meadow, then lose no time in positioning themselves.

It's Morgana who strikes first, her light wooden sword darting in past his guard. He knocks it away smoothly, connecting the parry to an overhead strike. She doesn't block him, preferring to dance past the blow where he can't reach. She suddenly lunges in, going for a direct stab. He knocks it away, then is forced to duck when she moves to swing at his head. It's followed through by another blow to his torso, and by the gods she is _fast. _She's darting back and forth, and he can't find much to leverage against when he can't catch her. As she skips back from a direct jab, she taunts, "You'll have to go a little faster, my lord."

He raises an eyebrow before knocking her sword away. Another parry and she's suddenly gone. He whirls around quickly, only to be tripped up by a leg. Biting back a curse, he hits the ground hard. She jumps on him and points her sword at his exposed neck.

"Dead."

He meets her eyes and nods. She gets up and offers him a hand up. He takes it, using her as leverage to get to his feet. She shrugs.

"I do believe peace has been lenient on you, my lord," she smiles.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Again, then." They resume position.

This time Arthur takes the offensive, forcing her to give ground with powerful blows. She dodges most of them, but the ones she has to meet directly, he can feel her exertion. There is a limit to agility, after all, and at least in sheer strength he is superior. He plays it to his advantage, then, dealing out direct hits that she cannot help but parry. Her face is flushed and her breath comes more quickly as they continue sparring. It's then he knows he's going to win this simply by wearing her down. His chance comes when she tries an elaborate trick to twist his sword out his hands-he simply knocks the sword up and her own sword flies out of her hand. His sword flicks to her heart.

"Dead. It seems you need practice."

She wipes the sweat from her eyes. "You'd have been dead the first time. Dead men don't fight twice."

Arthur's smug smile stays on. "Nevertheless, peace has been lenient on you as well, my lady."

Her face is indignant as she narrows her eyes at him. "Let's see. Again."

When they resume positions, Arthur notices that most of their knights have finished their matches and are gathering around to watch. Princess Morgana's eyes flick to the crowd, then focuses on him. He nods slightly.

They explode towards each other, holding nothing back. Her movements are slightly slower, and he's just a tiny bit tired, but the exchange of blows is brutal and Arthur can't afford to think of anything else. He can see her physically forcing herself to strike out faster, unwilling to lose face among her knights. And he tries to wear her out, careful not to step into one of her traps. They've sized each other up with the previous spars, and they're both using it to try to garner any advantage. A swift blow knocks his left arm, but he takes it silently, opting for another overhead blow. She dodges again, her hair whipping out behind her and her face glowing and he suddenly wonders if her eyes were always this bright-a painful jab to his solar plexus brings him to the ground. She jumps on him again, grinning with triumph as she taps his jugular playfully.

"Dead, my lord. What was that about practice?"

He splutters, "That wasn't- you distracted me!" He's legitimately outraged; she only won because she made him lose focus with her hair and eyes and- he's really not going to follow that train of thought. The Princess Morgana is suddenly a lot more annoying and a lot less inscrutable.

But she only grins wider. "But my lord, half the fight is in the mind. And you're a little sloppy with the footwork, anyways."

Arthur's even more indignant now. "I am _not_! And your blows always twitch to the right before going left!"

The knights are just watching them, their eyes flicking back and forth as the king and the princess start arguing like little children. The Cornish knights seem just as amazed; they've never seen her this _friendly._ Sarcastic and biting, yes. But not _playful._

Morgana grins. "You're just sore you lost, aren't you, your majesty?"

Arthur grits his teeth. "And you're just sore you can't keep up, _Morgana._" Her name slips out before he can help himself. It's an instinctive breach of etiquette, but it feels too natural. He can't very well go on insulting somebody while attaching "princess" to every other sentence he speaks.

Morgana's eyes widen a fraction, but Arthur is saved from the apprehension of thinking it was a misstep by her sudden wide grin. "Well, my lord, you can't blame me for that. I'm sure it's easier to soothe your ego that way."

She gives an elaborate bow and excuses herself and her knights from dawn training. Arthur grins slightly, before noticing his own knights looking at him and wiping it off his face.

But he never thinks of her as "The Princess Morgana" again.

* * *

><p>As time goes on, their bickering only grows more routine. Arthur doesn't use her titles or styles ever again, unless he's twisting it into a taunt or teasing her. Morgana retains the subtleties and the pretty little courtesies, and in a strange way, it evens out. Time and again he shatters courtly etiquette into a million pieces, starting shouting matches and stormy altercations for the littlest things. In the council sessions where the treaty is slowly, painstakingly being drafted- he won't admit to dragging it out just a little bit to lengthen her stay- her fierce intellect shines; the lords of his council hate her as much as ever. But he can't deny that she makes it so much more interesting.<p>

She brings out the worst in him, but that is alright; she brings out the very best too.

* * *

><p>There is yet another council meeting this afternoon. The basic armstice has been drawn up in the weeks that have past, but there are domestic concerns, juristiction tangles, and practical applications to wrestle with. A baron has inevitably had the temerity to demand recompense for the war efforts.<p>

"And does my lord wish both our nations to bring up each and every conflict we have had?" Her voice is icy as she adresses the noble.

The man straightens and puffs out his chest. "The constant warfare has taken a toll on Camelot. It is only natural that we receive what we are due."

Her eyes narrow. "In that case, perhaps my lord would wish to pay recompense to each of Cornwall's citizens who has lost family under the Great Purge."

"That is preposterous," the man splutters, "the circumstances of those times should not be answered to by us."

"Then perhaps we should let bygones be bygones, on both our parts."

Arthur, who has tensed at the mention of his father's crimes, raises a hand. "Recompense for war efforts, on either side, is out of the question. This is a peace treaty, not a one-sided parley for war." He looks at Morgana. "But it is true that the magical population has suffered, and all that is possible will be done to right those wrongs."

Arthur can see her half-suspicious, half-appraising look. He knows she's still wary; there are places in Camelot she refuses to go to, innocuous events she reacts strangely to. Sometimes he can _feel_ animosity in her gaze. He doesn't know what exactly is the cause, but he attributes it to the bloody history between his country and hers.

Right now, though, there's something else in her eyes. Her lips suddenly quirk up, and she nods. "I believe we were discussing trade routes, my lords."

Another of his lords immediately starts the debate again, and the hall is full of arguing once more.

Morgana doesn't break her gaze, and Arthur meets it squarely. There's an unspoken question that he doesn't answer, but she seems to find a reply in his eyes nonetheless. She smiles again.

Arthur is just very, very lost.

* * *

><p>"Yield."<p>

Morgana grits her teeth, then bows her head. "I yield."

Arthur lowers his sword and smirks. "Well, milady, I guess you lose again. How many times today?"

He can see her fuming. Today seems to be a bit of an off-day for her; Morgana is frustrated to the point that she abandons her shell of reserve. With a cry of exasperation, she throws down her own sword and stomps off.

Arthur rolls his eyes and follows her. She could be so unbearable sometimes. He tries to grab her wrist to stop her, but she snatches it back and slips into her chamber. Never mind. Make that most of the time.

It's at night he hears her screams.

After debating the propriety of it for a little while, he grabs his sword and rushes all the way to her chamber. By the time he bursts in, the screams have subsided and there is only the barely audible sounds of her sobbing. He stands awkwardly at the foot of her bed, and she tries to stifle her sobs in the blankets. It seems she hadn't noticed him, because when she sniffles one last time and wipes away her tears, she bolts up and pulls the blanket closer to her.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice is cracking and wavery, and he can see none of the poise she usually has.

Arthur fumbles for an excuse, and decides to avoid her question altogether. "What's wrong?"

Her expression hardens. "Get out."

He is stubborn though, and as usual, he refuses to listen to her. "Not until you tell me what's upsetting you so." He could turn this into more everyday banter, but he doesn't think it would make her feel better.

She in turn is just as stubborn. She repeats, "Get out."

Arthur runs his hands through his hair, aggravated. "Morgana. You've probably woken half the castle. Did you have a nightmare or something?"

Morgana is silent for a long while. "I'm breaking off the treaty."

Arthur is suddenly alert. "Morgana!"

She closes her eyes. "I don't care anymore. I can't do this."

He tries to keep his temper. "It's not up to you. Your father sent you. You're representing the whole of Cornwall."

Her green eyes are visible once more. "And I speak for the entirety of Cornwall. I can't do this anymore."

He raises his voice. "Just a day ago you were eager to make terms. Are you dissatisfied with something? Or are you just having a tantrum?"

She steps out of the bed. "How dare you- get out."

He remains where he is. "This is Camelot, Princess. And I don't think you understand what you're saying. Is there a reason you suddenly want to give up and leave? I didn't think you were a quitter."

Her eyes are glassy. "What's the point? The treaty will break. I don't want to stay here."

Arthur's voice drops. "You don't think Camelot will keep the treaty."

Morgana's gaze flicks up, then lowers. "It won't."

"And how do you know? What's suddenly convinced you?"

She doesn't' respond. Arthur's voice is quiet. "You don't trust Camelot's pledge to keep her word?"

Morgana's voice is little more than a whisper. "I trust you."

The silence that overtakes them is heavy. Arthur turns and slowly leaves her chambers. He doesn't fall asleep that night.

* * *

><p>The negotiations continue in the morning. Morgana avoids Arthur's eyes, but the council remains in lively debate. There is no talk whatsoever of the treaty being broken off.<p>

Arthur forgets about it eventually.


	4. Time a half

**A/N: A huge thank you to reviewers catalONIAmaes, claire3loves3music, marxist339az, and Christina_Potter_09 for your wonderful reviews! And a special big thank you to archangelo137, hillevi, AudreySalvatoreNorthman, and emerald sorceress, whose reviews continue to give me strength! And the very insightful critique by emerald sorceress really made me look at what I was doing- thank you for taking the time to read it. I've finally got the hang of longer show-not-tell chapters :)**

**This chapter is again fragments from "The Third Time and The Month That Followed", which I didn't do justice to. So these are just moments from when Morgana stayed in Camelot for the first Treaty. Thus breaking the chronological flow again-just because I can. Muhaha. **

**Disclaimer- anything you recognize isn't mine. :) And credits to claire3loves3music for giving me the idea from which this little drabbl-y thing sprang with the review. By the way, ****Adar Llwch Gwin** **literally means bird-dust-wine in Welsh. Probably.**

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><p>He can see them talking and laughing together. There's not anything intrinsically wrong with that- just the fact that they seem to be enjoying themselves a little too much. He steps closer, then thinks better of it and walks away. The wind is against them though, and he can hear snatches of conversation.<p>

"'He has a destiny and doom will be yours if you touch him?' That's the ward you put on him? I would have thought you'd find a better message to send out to all magic users within 15 feet of his Royal Airheadness." Morgana's voice is mirthful.

"Well, it's true. And are you sure you should refer to him like that? After all, he is your host." Hearing Merlin, Arthur is thankful and starts contemplating giving him a salary raise.

"Even if he is a clotpole." Never mind, Merlin was going to have his salaries slashed. And clean the stables. Without magic.

"I'm intrigued by the knot seal you put to finish off the ward though. Quite classy."

"Well, I guess I am."

He loses track of the conversation as he stalks off without looking. And promptly bumps into Guinevere. She blushes.

"King Arthur. I've been looking for you."

He nods his head and smiles. "Well, I guess you've found me. What is it?"

"I was wondering whether Lancelot would be joining us for the feast in the Cornwall Princess's honor. It has been a while since you've sent him to deal with those bandits."

He shrugs. "That will have to depend on whether he completes his mission. I'll look into it." She smiles and walks off. Morgana and Merlin come out, arm in arm, and suddenly he has very tender feelings for Guinevere.

"Guinevere." Both Merlin and Morgana glance at him curiously. Guinevere turns. "Why don't we have a picnic? It's fine weather and it's been a while since we've had time together."

Guinevere's smile is wide. "I'd love to."

Morgana twitches. "I wouldn't recommend that."

Arthur smirks. "Why, jealous?"

She scowls. "No, because it's going to rain in a hour, Sire. And I'm afraid you're going to be defenestrated very soon."

He raises an eyebrow. He's just about to make a witty remark when the window shatters and Morgana pushes him out. Luckily it's the first floor and Arthur lands safely on the courtyard. He breaks his fall with a roll and is up in a flash.

"Morgana. What-" He never finishes his sentence as a giant bird swoops out of the very window he'd been pushed out of. He pulls out his sword and immediately goes into a defensive position.

Merlin crashes unceremoniously on top of him just as a second giant bird joins the first. Morgana calls out, "Are you alright?" before jumping down herself. Unfortunately, Arthur was just getting up himself and Morgana trips over him as she lands, going sprawling. All three end up in a big heap as the knights see the creatures and sound the alarm. Guinevere screams from the window. She rushes out, not a hair out of place, and screams again. One of the giant birds- too small to be a griffin, but too large to be anything ordinary- swoops at her. Arthur gets to her just in time, and swipes with his sword, sending it reeling up to the sky.

"Oh dear." Merlin groans, and Guinevere trips in her hurry to leave. Arthur helps her up and pushes her into the castle. Morgana joins him, her own dagger pulled out.

"What ARE those things?" Arthur shouts above their terrible screeching. Merlin snorts. "Obviously it's magical."

Morgana squints. "It's either a malnourished griffin or an Adar Llwch Gwin."

Arthur finds the time to roll his eyes. "And that helps us very much, I'm sure. But what exactly _is_ it?"

Merlin chimes in. "And what kind of person names that monstrosity dust-wine-bird?"

The two birds simultaneously dive at them. Merlin chants at one and something blows up. The bird wheels away unharmed. Arthur and Morgana swing at the other at the same time, and it too is repulsed for a while.

Morgana snorts. "Don't insult them- they can understand everything we're saying. They follow the bidding of one magician; do you know of any with a vendetta against Camelot?"

Merlin ducks as one of them try to claw at his eyes. "Too many, we can't even count."

Arthur's knights come with lances and try to jab at the birds; they simply fly higher.

"Since you're such an expert on these...whatever you called them, why don't you tell us how to get rid of them?" Arthur curses as the bird lets out an earsplitting screech. It seems they have been set to target Arthur specifically; though they could tear any of the knights to pieces, they only focus on the king.

Morgana summons a yellow flame and hurls it at them, but it bounces off their wings and flies back at her. She trips over her skirts and barely manages to dodge it. Her skirts catch fire though, and she has to beat it out with her hands.

"Such grace you show us, milady. Maybe you should go back into the castle." Arthur manages to call back at her. She tucks the skirts up higher and growls. "Merlin, you try tracking the source. King Prathead here and I'll try to distract them." She summons water and earth to hurl at the birds, but they only dodge them. Arthur takes one of Morgana's daggers and throws it at one, and it shrieks as the blade finds its mark in its wing-joint. It flies lopsided, and the knife falls to the floor. Morgana is annoyed. "That dagger is worth more than your armory combined. Don't you dare chuck it. My old tutor- she said it would kill any magical being.". She realizes. "It can kill those things!"

Arthur picks the dagger up again. "Yes, Morgana. So nice of you to finally catch on." He throws it again, and Morgana sends a gust of wind that directs it closer to the mark. The already lamed bird bursts into dust. The other lets out a truly deafening shriek and dives at them. Morgana dives for the dagger while Arthur physically bats it away with his sword, which seems to have little effect on the bird. Morgana tosses the dagger to Arthur, and he lets it fly. It buries itself into the bird's heart, and it too bursts into dust. It lands right on Morgana's head, who was picking up the dagger from where it had dropped. She coughs and tries to shake it all out. It sticks to her hair, and she is thoroughly disgruntled.

Right on cue, Merlin stumbles in, an unconscious robed figure levitated at his side.

He looks around. "The birds gone, then?"

Arthur grunts. "No thanks to you, Merlin."

Morgana smiles. "You've found our mysterious enemy." Arthur stalks over and whips the hood off the figure. His eyes widen in recognition. "Is this-"

Merlin frowns. "We've seen him before. Haven't we? We were at an inn…"

Arthur exclaims, "That thief! Asgerd! But he was a lowly thief, no sorcerer."

Morgana shrugs, still shaking her hair and picking the particles out. "You can ask him yourself." She snaps her fingers and he comes to.

The man bolts up and, seeing that he was about four feet from the ground, immediately faints again.

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "For the love of Camelot, wake him up, would you? And put him down."

Merlin dumps him on the ground and wakes him. This time, the man immediately starts trying to run away as soon as he regains consciousness. Two of Arthur's knights grab his arms.

The man blathers away without even any prompting. "It's not me, I swear! Some creepy lady gave me this ring and told me to be at Camelot if I wanted to earn some money! I swear I was just here!"

Merlin takes the ring from his finger and examines it. He turns pale. "I...need to go see Gaius."

Morgana snatches the ring from him and looks at it herself. She too is surprised. "Isn't this the sign of the Triple Goddess?"

Arthur has no idea what either of them are talking about, so he does what he usually does; he clouts Merlin on the head and sets off Morgana. "Well, if we're done gaping over that ring, I suggest we take care of this man."

Asgerd whimpers. "Mercy! Mercy!"

Arthur sends him to a nice stay in the dungeon for further questioning, and the group heads back in. Guinevere rushes at them and flings herself at Arthur, checking to make sure he is alright. He assures her that he is. He remembers what he was doing before. "So, the picnic, then?"

With a crooked smile, Morgana lifts her chin at the windowsill, now bare of glass. Droplets of water fall one by one, until they form a torrential downpour. "Still up for a picnic, milord?"

Arthur scowls. Guinevere smiles thinly. "Thank you, Morgana. I shall excuse myself then to attend to other things. Sire." She flounces off.

Morgana cocks her head, sending dust particles flying. "What does she do, again?" Arthur ignores the slight against his betrothed and stares at the window letting in the rain. "Get somebody to fix this window. And I want to know exactly how those birds got into the castle."

Morgana looks down at the ring she still holds. "I'm guessing they were in the ring when that man came into the castle. Honestly, are your guards so useless that they cannot sense an enemy? The mysterious robe and hood should have alerted them."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "We at Camelot aren't so hostile to our guests. Or so suspicious. That explains the birds."

Merlin takes Morgana's hand. "We should look into this. I think I'll need your help." They walk off together to find Gaius. Arthur realizes no one's gotten the servants to fix the window, and goes to do it himself, grumbling.


	5. Time three quarters

**A/N : For those of you who didn't notice the title, this is yet another "The months Morgana was in Camelot" chapter. It's set in the time of "The Third Time and the Month that Followed" chapter. This kind of chapter will always have a fraction in the title- because it's a fractional chapter :P Even if this is my longest chapter yet. Enjoy!**

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><p>The sound of the slap rings through the chamber. Everyone is silent with shock. Guinevere slowly brings a hand to her red cheek, hardly believing that anyone has dared to physically hurt her in any way. Morgana stares, defiant.<p>

Arthur is the first to break the silence. "Princess Morgana, control yourself. Guinevere…"

The lady trembles and looks away. "I'm alright, Arthur. I...I'll be in my chambers." She turns and leaves the room, pointedly ignoring Morgana. The princess stares daggers at the woman's back.

As soon as she disappears from view, Arthur grabs her by the wrist and drags her over to a chair. She turns her icy green-grey eyes on him in anger. "Unhand me."

Arthur loosens his grip, and Morgana snatches her hand away. Arthur takes a deep breath, trying to curb his temper.

"You are a guest in Camelot, my lady. Can't you at least behave civilized?"

"Would you have me listening to that woman insult my country? I will not sit and meekly be condemned for my magic."

"You struck a lady of my court. You besmirch Cornwall's honor yourself, behaving in such a way."

"I would have challenged her to a duel had she not been a lady. I am not one to let such words be."

Arthur curses, and falls back into the familiar way he talks with her now. "Damn it, Morgana! You shouldn't have slapped Guinevere! Is that so hard to understand?"

Morgana's eyes flash. "And I say it was justified, Sire. I would do it again if I could."

"What is wrong with you? "

"I refuse to let you lecture me so. I suggest you control your court better."

He turns and leaves, silently seething. She stays in the chair and broods.

.

As Arthur stalks down the corridors, the last vestige of sunset gives way to darkness. He hardly feels like having the Samhain feast at all. But sweet Guinevere has toiled over it for weeks now and he can't bear to disappoint her.

So he finds himself, standing, with his goblet extended and proposing a toast to Camelot. Guinevere is seated at his left, smiling at him. Morgana, on his right, refuses to look at him. He sits back down after drinking to Camelot, and the feast begins.

Hungry from his late afternoon training, he digs in with relish. Merlin, no longer a servant, sits to the right of Morgana instead of serving at the table. But neither of them are eating, just speaking in quiet whispers that no one else can hear. Arthur savagely bites into a drumstick, wondering acerbically why they don't save themselves the trouble and speak mind-to-mind like he knows they can. As the meal nears its end, there is a sudden gust of wind. The torches hung on the walls flicker; it is an unnaturally strong wind, and soon the torches die one by one. Morgana and Merlin stand, eyes golden and mouths set in that identical expression. Another whiplash of wind, and all of the banquet hall is thrown into the darkness. Someone screams.

He hears two bodies dropping to the floor.

When Arthur finally manages to have the torches lit once more, he sees princess and sorcerer crumpled on the floor. As the lords and ladies start muttering amongst themselves, Arthur tersely declares the feast over and dismisses them. He gets two knights to carry the two prone magicians to the infirmary.

He is kept from visiting either of them by reports of mysterious killers with no form or body ravaging Camelot flooding in. He feels almost helpless- wars he can stand. Monsters, fine. Even curses he can break. But these unidentifiable beings he has no solution for. The arcane is not something he likes.

As soon as he has the time to do so, Arthur goes to Gaius. Inside his quarters, he sees Morgana and Merlin conscious and sipping from hot tea cups. He forgets that he was until very recently furious at Morgana.

"Gaius must have told you about these beings plaguing Camelot. Have you any idea what they are?"

Morgana raises an eyebrow. "I'm just a lady, my lord. And in a diplomatic retinue at that. How could I ever know?"

Arthur is sorely tempted to run her through with his dagger. "Morgana, if you're expecting an apology you'll be disappointed. This is urgent. I can't waste time squabbling with you. Merlin?"

Merlin speaks as in a trance, his eyes flat. "I saw a woman. Old, wrinkled."

Morgana nods. "She warned us of the veil. But she just disappeared. I don't understand!"

Gaius speaks up. "If I may, I think you both may have seen the Callieach. But she guards the veil- she has no reason to wander around, showing herself to random magicians." He glances at Morgana. "No offense meant, milady." Merlin looks fairly indignant.

Arthur waves these tidbits of information away. "I don't care about this Callieach; right now, these ghostly murderers are forming an army of sorts, heading to Camelot. Anyone who they fly through are dead. I need to know what they are and how to rid us of them."

Morgana frowns. "Yesterday was Samhain. And we both saw the Callieach. And the veil…"

Merlin shakes his head. "I don't understand."

Morgana turns to Gaius. "Have you ever heard of the Dorocha?"

Gaius pales. "Yes, but- the old religion…"

"You know as well as I do that practitioners still exist. My own tutor was a high priestess."

Arthur ruffles his hair. "And of course we trust your dear old tutor completely. Is she the one who gave you that dagger?"

Morgana nods. "Before she disappeared. I don't think she liked Camelot much."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Of course. As if we didn't need more powerful sorceresses out to do Camelot in."

Arthur snaps, "Then what can we do about it? They have a grudge against my father; he's dead now. What can I do?"

There is a brief silence. Arthur struggles to reign his temper in.

"Morgana. Gaius. Seeing as Merlin is absolutely useless, do you know how to repel these...beings?"

Gaius flips through a book he has on hand. "Fire, Sire. They attack in darkness because they are afraid of light and warmth. It being winter, it is an advantageous time for them."

Morgana puts her head into her hands. "If the veil was torn, then we would have felt it. And the Dorocha would not be progressing in rank and file. There'd be a lot more of them, too. So…"

Merlin thinks for a while. "I think they've been...summoned or something. Maybe a sorcerer pulled a few of them through with a portal."

Morgana tosses her hair over her shoulder. "The Callieach should have been able to stop that from happening. And if this enemy of Camelot wanted to make a big impact, he or she would have simply torn the veil and let all of them through. It doesn't make sense."

Arthur has had enough. "I suppose the best thing to do is bring everyone into the castle and keep it lit at all times." He turns and leaves.

.

Camelot's bells rings through the cold night, calling all of the nearby villages into sanctuary. Morgana stands at Arthur's side as he looks at the trickle of incoming villagers from the balcony. She looks at him.

"It's not your fault."

"I need to protect my people; but how am I to do that when arcane forces work against me? We don't even know the enemy."

Morgana looks up. "You don't suppose the Adar Llich Gwin were sent by the same person, do you? The one who made the ring?"

Arthur shakes his head tiredly. "I've already been through this with Merlin. It doesn't make sense. That was a simple assassination plan. This-" he waves a hand at the general situation "is a full-out attack. Why would he change tactics so?"

They both watch the movements in silence. The torch smolders as a brisk wind picks up. The doors swing open, revealing a panicked Guinevere. She fights to catch her breath.

"Arthur, I've been looking everywhere for you- it's an emergency. They've been spotted."

Arthur strides towards the door, but is stopped by Morgana's voice.

"You can see them from here. Is that-?"

Silvery winds blow out the torches at the end of the line of refugees. The screams come not long after.

Arthur grits his teeth and clenches his fists. But even his anger can't prevent him from stumbling back a few steps when something swoops right at him. Morgana gasps, and Guinevere hides her face with her hands. Arthur braces himself for death.

But it doesn't come. Instead, the half-skeleton protean face bobs mere inches from his, obscene grin made out from silvery dust.

"King Arthur, We are a warning. Your reign is built on blood and the burnings of my kind. You and all of Camelot is doomed." The not-quite-a-voice rings out into everyone's head. It is hoarse and scratchy, and it is a direct projection into minds. Beyond the balcony, he can see many of the villagers fall to their knees and clutch their ears. Guinevere has already fled. Morgana is frozen with uncharacteristic fear, eyes wide and barely breathing. The Dorocha stays where it is for a few seconds more, pausing for dramatic effect, then dissipates. The horde starts advancing on the villagers.

Fire springs forth- reassuring and safe. It is Merlin, using his raw terrible power to chase them away as the last of the still-alive villagers make their way into Camelot. Arthur turns to Morgana. She is shivering and her eyes are still fixed on where the Dorocha had been.

"Morgana. I need you to help Merlin." Her eyes are still unfocused, and she rocks slightly on her feet. "Morgana!"

He shakes her by the shoulders. She gasps as if she has been underwater for a long time and has just reached the surface. Her trembling does not cease, and when she turns her frightened green eyes on him, he is scared for her.

"Morgana," He calls her in a gentler tone. He cups her face with his hands and forces her to face him. "Morgana. We can get through this. You have your magic." She shakes her head. Her mouth forms soundless words. Arthur looks out at the gates. The ghostly invaders have reached the gates, and Merlin's fires are growing weak. Arthur knows that Merlin is more instinct and power than practice and experience; he may be the most powerful sorcerer in existence, but he burns out quickly because of the lack of structure. But Morgana has been trained. If only she worked with Merlin…

Looking at the state she is in, he cannot bring himself to force her. He wants the old confident Princess Morgana back, not this foreign scared woman that he does not recognize. Silently apologizing, he slaps her hard.

Morgana looks at him, her eyes blazing. He guides her over to the balcony, and points. She closes her eyes, shudders once, then nods. She disappears in a clap of thunder, and apparently reappears next to Merlin, because the next moment there's a wall of fire making its way around Camelot's boundaries. It reaches up to the sky, weaker but still steady. The Dorocha move out of the boundary and one by one disappears, leaving behind the same message in everyone's minds.

_"King Arthur, We are a warning. Your reign is built on blood and the burnings of my kind. You and all of Camelot is doomed."_

The fire quenches itself. Merlin and Morgana run up to where he is, Merlin on the verge of collapse and Morgana pale. Arthur nods. "Well done."

Morgana shakes her head. "It's not us. They could have gotten through the wall of fire if they tried, it was so weak. I…"

Arthur frowns. "They're gone. That's all that matters. And you told me yourself the veil is too strong on any day but Samhain for anything to come through."

Morgana keeps silent. Arthur claps Merlin on the back and leads him to Gaius, leaving Morgana behind. She stays, looking down at the campfires of the refugees. The Dorocha doesn't return.

.

_"King Arthur, We are a warning. Your reign is built on blood and the burnings of my kind. You and all of Camelot is doomed."_

.

The words run through Arthur's mind incessantly. There had been less and less magical attacks against Camelot with the demise of his father, but this new outbreak seemed the most dangerous by far. The last magical threat as dangerous as this that he can remember is that of Nimue's. But she had been killed- at least that was what he had been told. The questing beast was years back, but it still sets a jolt of fear through Arthur's mind. Would a high priestess with power over life and death be killed with simple lightning? He sighs as the newest report of deaths by Dorocha-there are no casualties or damages, just mountains of the sleeping dead- filters into his brain. Finally the figures end and the court leaves him.

Truth be told, he is frightened stiff by the idea of these ethereal killers. Though he reassures his people there is none to reassure him. None to distract him from what could have happened. Guinevere helps him with the paperwork, of course, but she is delicate and easily tires. She does not understand, anyhow. Living under Uther's reign has made most fearful and ignorant of any type of magic. Many courtiers share Uther's burning and abiding hatred.

.

Morgana does not come out of her chambers for a week. Arthur does not notice until the fifth day; the aftermath of the Dorocha have led him to cancel all meetings for the treaty until further notice. He has no reason to expect to see her anywhere else. But when he finally does finish, he realizes that he has not even passed Morgana in the corridors or talked to her or even seen her anywhere, and he is a little concerned. Only because she is a guest and he is her host and it is his duty to keep her comfortable. That's what he tells himself, anyways.

_"King Arthur, We are a warning. Your reign is built on blood and the burnings of my kind. You and all of Camelot is doomed."_

He cannot stand it any longer; he shakes his head in a vigorous attempt to put that thought out of his mind and stands up. Perhaps a good training session will help him.

He finds himself battering at the poor training dummy as if it has killed his father and married his mother. The wood splinters and cracks with sheer brute force, and he does not stop until it is nothing but kindling and shreds of clothing. He looks up. There is a flash of green at a window; he knows (instinctively) that it is Morgana. He throws down the sword and goes into the castle.

He forces himself to walk until he reaches the window he knows she was looking out of. When he nears the place, he finds that the window is actually in her inner chambers; she still has not come out. Ruffling his hair and hoping he doesn't look too worn out, he knocks on the door.

Morgana's maid answers, and hurriedly drops into a curtsey. He has seen her around-Sarah was it?- and he nods at her. She mutters a few unintelligible words and lets him in, rushing off to presumably find her mistress.

Morgana is in a simple green dress with no jewelry but a simple belt at her waist; it is a change for Arthur, who has only seen her in battle garb or bejeweled court gowns befitting her status. She leads him to the table and sits down herself; Arthur takes the place at the head of the table.

There is an awkward silence. They have not seen each other in a week, and Morgana has purple shadows under her eyes that are impossible to ignore. He speaks first.

"You haven't been out."

Morgana seems too tired to banter. "Yes."

"Any reason?"

"Do I need one?"

"Merlin's worrying about you." Not quite a lie, but not the whole truth either.

"And what about you?" She doesn't even smile as she says this.

"I have a duty to take care of your well-being while you are a guest in Camelot."

"And does that duty include forcing me to face the Dorocha?"

Arthur opens his mouth and then closes it. When he opens them again, his voice is lower.

"They needed you. Merlin couldn't have lasted."

"Merlin did last. And I was not of much use."

"You would have been."

She looks up, eyes blazing. "And how would you know that? How would you know that I wouldn't have just stood there, panicking if Merlin hadn't channeled magic through me?"

Arthur frowns. "It almost seems as if you're frightened. You're not a simple court lady who would be frightened like that- what's wrong?"

Morgana's voice is savage. "Maybe it's the fact that I've seen the Dorocha do far worse damage. And weren't you frightened, Sire? I fear them just as you do."

"Don't be such a girl. That doesn't explain the fact that you locked yourself up in your chambers for a week."

"Do I need a reason? I'm a temperamental court lady after all. Maybe I was in here brushing my hair and embroidering."

He stands up. "Well, if you're so angered by my presence, I'll leave you to your embroidery."

She glares at him. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

He storms out of her chambers and slams the wooden doors behind him. He grimly enjoys the rest of his day, laughing too hard and fighting too forcefully. All of the knights are left bruised and battered, and more than one starts to wonder whether the position of a knight of Camelot actually means being the King's personal punching bag.

Dinner is a savage business, and Arthur is only briefly cheered by Guinevere's idle talk. She mentions his birthday approaching very soon, and he thinks with surprise that he will be twenty two. He still feels too young for the crown.

.

Though he tries to avoid it, the council meetings for the treaty resume. Morgana sits facing him directly, and councilors are seated to either side of her. Merlin is strangely absent. Arthur pointedly refuses to look at her and directs all of his questions at the chief delegate next to her.

"And I assume that the refugee druids will wish to stay within Cornwall, my lord?"

The man stutters for a little, shooting Morgana a look. "Um..That is what I believe, Sire."

Morgana ignores this slight. "There are a few among their number that have left families behind and would wish to return if they are certain of their safety."

Arthur looks off at the torch behind her while speaking. "Camelot will, of course, guarantee that there will be no prosecution. But it may be advisable to wait while the populace becomes used to the changes."

Morgana grits her teeth. Right when it seems she is about to blow up- or worse, blow Arthur up- the bells ring, calling the castle to dinner. She exhales and stands up. "Until next time, gentlemen."

Arthur looks out at the window as the Cornwall delegation leaves the room. When Merlin rushes in spluttering that he wasn't told about any treaty meetings, Arthur clouts him on the head and goes for dinner.

.

Cornwall's delegation seems strangely out of place in Arthur's birthday feast. Guinevere has had a field day, sparing no expense to prepare the castle for the celebrations. It being less than two weeks from the Samhain disaster, the feast is more subdued; but Guinevere has managed to prepare a festive occasion in such a short amount of time. There is dancing and revelry; Arthur leaves the table to dance with Guinevere. He only glimpses the empty seat where Morgana should have been.

He frowns inwardly as he goes through the steps with Guinevere. Even if Morgana is not on good terms with him, it is almost required for her as a foreign dignitary to attend. She knows that well enough; her retinue is here after all. But her absence is glaringly obvious.

Merlin is in a corner, drinking wine and looking quite befuddled. Arthur thinks that he's going to be fit for nothing for a week at the very least- Merlin is not a strong drinker.

Guinevere twirls, laughing, and Arthur turns with her. She looks past him and smiles broadly. He looks back to see. One of his knights is bringing a wrapped box; Guinevere leads Arthur to the table so he can start receiving gifts. Hers is first, of course; it is a magnificent signet ring engraved with the Pendragon coat of arms. He smiles broadly and thanks her; the ring only briefly reminds him that he probably should have already proposed to her. He pushes that thought out of his mind- he's not ready yet- and receives the Cornwall delegation's gift with slightly less enthusiasm. The gift is beautiful- a finely wrought sword- but it's just hard to ignore the snub of the head of delegation refusing to attend. There are many more- he is excited by some, pleased by others, and finally it is over. Arthur steps out for another dance with Guinevere, his mood lightened.

It's a waltz and they are slowly rotating together, and when Guinevere whispers 'happy birthday', mirth bubbles up inside him. A final turn and he is grinning- and suddenly there is the ghastly phantom once more. Guinevere shrieks and clutches him tight. He puts her behind him and faces it. Knights rush up with torches. The Dorocha's smoky skeletal face is fixed in that horrific grin, and it does not seem to be affected by the proximity of the fire.

_"King Arthur, We are a warning. Your reign is built on blood and the burnings of my kind. You and all of Camelot is doomed."_

With those words, more of them appear from the shadows as strong unnatural winds rise. The torches flicker and start to die. Arthur watches in horror as they come closer and closer to the diners. Merlin desperately tries to make the same ring of protective fire, but it is difficult for him in his inebriated state. The flames flicker off. Merlin and the few magicians in court try to keep the ring of fire alive, but the Dorocha seems to have been instructed to obstruct the flames. Arthur has never felt so helpless.

The fire suddenly rages up in a glorious inferno. Everything is cast into sharp relief, illuminated by the brightly burning light. Screams of surprise echo through the hall, as well as cheers. Morgana steps through the darkness. The Dorocha circle around the new shield of flames, but do not dare try to pass it. After a tense moment, the whole lot disappears. Their final message rings through everyone's minds like nails screeching down glass.

_"King Arthur, We are a warning. Your reign is built on blood and the burnings of my kind. You and all of Camelot is doomed."_

The knights slowly approach the ring of fire and relight the torches. The magical fire slowly extinguish themselves, and in the even torchlight, things seem less frightening. Arthur turns. Morgana is still at the entrance, lowering her hand as the last of the fire dies away. She doesn't look at him.

He feels like he should say something. He clears his throat.

"Morgana, I…"

She lets her hair fall to hide her expression. "Apparently I exist now that I save your sorry behind."

He rolls his eyes. Of all things, she's still sore about that. "Well, seeing as you've deigned to grace us with your presence, will you stay to dine?"

Her reply surprises him. "No." She raises her gaze to look at him. "I'm afraid I'm tired, Sire. Would you mind excusing me?"

He nods, dumbfounded. She sweeps back out. When Arthur turns back to the feast, he finds absolute silence.

He smiles awkwardly. "I guess we've all had enough. Thank you all." The lords and ladies nod assent and start milling back to their quarters. Guinevere does the same after a quick kiss.

.

As Arthur finally gets ready for bed, there is a small knock on the door. Swallowing a grunt of annoyance, he yells, "Enter!". A timid woman edges in, as if something will try to eat her. He rolls his eyes at her shyness, then frowns. She was Morgana's maid. Sarah. That was it.

She bobs a wobbly curtsey and seems too frightened to even look up at him. He resists the urge to tell her to come back tomorrow.

"Well? Is there anything you came for?"

She trembles a little. "Milord, my lady wanted me to deliver this to you. She says it's a birthday gift." Sarah holds out a tiny cloth bag. Arthur grabs at it hastily. The woman turns to leave, and he realizes she might be able to answer a few of his questions.

"Er...Sarah. How long have you been working for Morgana?"

She bobs a curtsey. It's getting a little annoying. "Five years, milord."

"Would you know if Morgana's scared of the Dorocha?"

She curtsies again and looks at him with wide eyes. "But of course milord, how could she not? She's terrified of them. So are we all."

He bids her sit down. "But does she have some...special phobia of it?"

She takes a seat, and instead of curtsying as she answers his question, nods her head. "I really couldn't say."

He looks at her. "Why is she so terrified?"

She stutters, "Well, after her mother, I wouldn't…"

The doors open again and Morgana lets herself in.

"There you are, Sarah." She looks at Arthur. "Excuse us." She starts walking out, Sarah scurrying to her side.

"Morgana."

She turns to look at him. His expression convinces her to walk back into the room, dismissing Sarah first.

"What is it, Sire."

"You told me that the veil is impossible to penetrate except on Samhain. How did they get through today?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Your best guess then."

"Ask Merlin and Gaius. I want to go to bed."

"Morgana, when they came on Samhain, you were frightened out of your wits. Today you managed to keep everyone safe. Why?"

She flushes. "I…" Arthur waits.

"The Dorocha- the ones today weren't real."

"What?"

She repeats the sentence more firmly. "They weren't real."

"How come you knew? You locked yourself up."

"I'm not blind- when the windows to the great hall start flaming, I know there's something wrong."

"Then why did you think they aren't real?"

"They had to travel from the region of the veil. These suddenly appeared."

Arthur sighs. "Well, what would be the point?"

Morgana looks at him. "I'm sure you'd know better than me." She walks out the door.

He remembers the cloth bag he's been holding all this time, and opens it. It's a small pendant-ring, but the gem on it is not ordinary. He rubs the jewel with his thumb, and the stone emits a soft warm light. He smiles.

.

The light shines through Arthur's window until dawn comes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Two author's note in one chapter! Gasp! I just wanted to thank Kreuse, xGeminiGirlx, AudreySalvatoreNorthman (as always, a big thank you), and Your Favorite Oxymoron for their kind reviews. I'm starting to find a plot, of all things! That means very slow updates from now on while I figure out where exactly this is going. So thank you for reading!**


	6. Time seven ninth

Two months have passed, and despite all of the setbacks and the delays (some of which he caused with unreasonable demands he never intended to make in the first place), the treaty is finished. By then, even the court of Camelot has grown used to the presence of the foreign princess; she has become a part of its court as much as any other noble. So when the time for her to finally sign the treaty and return to her home, many are sorry to see her leave. Arthur considers pulling another full-blown confrontation to delay the signing of the treaty; he enjoys bickering with her as much as he enjoys the charged air that surrounds them whenever they interact. But he is a king, and in the end he knows he has to let her go.

The last council meeting, in which Arthur and Morgana sign all but the official treaty, takes place on a wintry afternoon. They stand side by side, him in his customary red jacket and her in a trailing blue dress, reading over the countless documents they've spent months in drafting. He signs his name first on each document, quill point scratching on the parchment. She accepts the pen from him and follows suit. The bundle of parchment is taken to be safeguarded in a ceremonial chest.

After the last of the papers have been signed, the council applauds the end to the negotiation sessions. One by one each lord and delegate file out, leaving only Morgana and Arthur in the council chambers.

Morgana turns to him and mockingly curtseys. "It's been a pleasure, Sire."

Arthur bows. "You're not going to miss this, Morgana?"

"Of course, my lord. Why wouldn't I miss the endless droning of our lords as they argue over fishing rights? Or the hours and hours of fighting over semantics?" She tilts her head back, staring up at the arched ceiling. "I'm sure my lord is overjoyed to put aside the burden of playing host to a diplomatic delegation."

It stings just a little bit. "At least you won't be here to annoy me."

Morgana merely smiles at that, shaking her head. She looks at him. "Let's hope we never have to meet on less pleasant circumstances."

"That's what the treaty is for, Morgana." His voice is half-sarcastic, but she doesn't smile.

"I suppose so." Her tone is rather subdued, and Arthur sighs a little.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

She twitches a smile. "Packing. We'll be off soon enough."

His face must have betrayed his conflicting feelings on that, because she smiles again. "Don't tell me you're going to miss me, your majesty."

Arthur snorts half-heartedly. "Hardly. I suppose you're going to spend hours preparing for the feast?"

Morgana shrugs. "I am a lady, after all."

Arthur escorts her to her chambers, then leaves her to it. Maybe some training will do him good.

* * *

><p>The feast in her honor is sumptuous beyond compare. Arthur is with Guinivere, mingling with the nobles before the feast begins and he has to take his place at the head of the hall. There are all of the Cornish nobles and knights to recognize, and he is almost too busy to notice Morgana's absence. The music provides a light background to the formal dialogue, and Arthur tries to be as attentive as he can to his guests.<p>

The door to the feasting hall opens. Morgana enters alone, fashionably late. She sweeps by the suddenly silent crowds, pretending to be oblivious to the way all eyes are pulled to her. Morgana is at her finest this her last night, with hair let down to flow down her back and a thousand tiny gems adorning her throat. Her smile is almost predatory as she finds her target- Merlin- and imperiously makes her way to him, demanding his attention. Merlin turns a bright red, hardly able to carry on a conversation. Morgana laughs delightedly.

"You don't think she's fallen in love with Merlin, do you?" Guinevere's whisper brings hiim back to earth. He blinks, turning his attention to his lady. "I'm sorry, Guinevere?"

"It would be such an irony, the princess in love with the sorcerer." Her eyes are narrowed. Arthur gulps a little. The thought of Morgana in love with _Merlin _is absolutely preposterous. As if she would look at the pale, bumbling idiot before him- not helping. Not helping at all. He blurts out, "She's not. At all."

Guinevere tilts her head to the side, her mass of brown curls in an updo that dramatizes the movement. "And you have an invested interest because?"

He shakes his head. "I don't, Guinevere. Excuse me."

Arthur leaves Guinevere's side to march over to Morgana. She turns to him with an amused air, while Merlin flushes again and mutters something about burning soup. She's dazzling tonight, and it's a little hard to think when he's facing her directly like this.

Morgana seems to have no such problem. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she remarks, "It's rather hard to think that today was our last training session."

Arthur nods. "It's a pity you won't ever get to beat me." Instead of whacking him, Morgana only laughs.

"I'm sure in your deluded mind you do believe that to be true, your majesty."

"Isn't it, though?" Arthur smirks. "After all, you were the one who tripped over her own foot while sparring today. A mistake like that-"

"Would get me killed. as you've mentioned around ten times today, my lord."

"I'm sure some knight would be willing to rescue you, Morgana."

She looks up. "Of course. A proper knight, I hope. I do believe we should begin the meal around now, your majesty."

Arthur sighs, and makes his way to the table. As the rest of the court mills about trying to get to their places, Morgana whispers in Arthur's ear, "Have mercy and cut the speech, please?"

Arthur snorts quietly. "Oh, it's not up to me. _You're _the one giving grace tonight."

Morgana blanches. "My lord, you didn't tell me..."

"It shouldn't be too much of a problem, Morgana. Just sign the fancy piece of paper and say a few words. Simple."

She glares at him, but makes no reply. They make their way to the ornate writing desk set up in the middle of the hall, while everyone watches. The preamble to the peace treaty is read out- even Geoffrey would fall asleep if it was read out in its entirety- and Arthur takes the quill first to sign the official document. Their fingers brush as Arthur presents the quill to Morgana. Morgana's hands are trembling as she signs.

Arthur nods to Morgana, and she glares at him briefly before turning to look at the assembled court.

"People of Camelot," her voice rings out, "Let this be the beginnings of a new era, where both our nations may live in harmony. Let there be peace!"

She discreetly glares at Arthur again while smiling at the applauding court. Arthur escorts her to the royal table, and the meal begins.

She's very animated this night, captivating the nobles sitting near her. She laughs and smiles and tells little stories about things she will miss about Camelot- not being able to beat Arthur at fencing for one- and this time, he cannot find the words or the heart to protest. She sits at his right hand, and he can hardly eat for her presence is distracting him so. Guinevere, sitting at his left, is unusually quiet.

Then everything goes wrong. Morgana has just turned to Arthur with a grin, saying, "I doubt even your majesty could prove himself in such a way." She takes a sip from the jewel-encrusted goblet. "If _you _were confronted by a swarm of Ceffyl Dwyrs-" Morgana suddenly turns white as a sheet. Her eyes widen and swim in confusion and panic as she clutches her throat, gasping. Her gaze is darting around, disoriented, and she stumbles up, backs away from the table. The goblet falls to the floor. Arthur jumps up, and she's choking and coughing and fighting to stay upright-

Everyone stares in horror as she tumbles to the floor.

The silence holds for a few precious seconds. Arthur is frozen to the spot as he stares at her limp body; she's not even gasping for breath anymore and her already translucent skin is looking _dead_. The court seems dazed, not knowing what to do. Then pandemonium breaks loose. Somebody screams, and all of the knights, of both Cornwall and Camelot, have their swords unsheathed. Her advisors and guards crowd around her, and her maid is desperately trying to rouse her.

"My lady," she's all but screaming into her ear, "Princess Morgana?"

Arthur pushes the girl away and cradles Morgana in his arms. She's not breathing and the cold trickle of fear runs down Arthur's back. Merlin elbows his way in through her people surrounding her, never minding the swords. His eyes flash gold.

A long, endless second, and then she starts and lets out a breath. Arthur is on the verge of crying from relief-because the whole treaty would have been jeopardized and there would have been war, not because he was worried or anything like that- but he has the composure to order the court dismissed. Disregarding the wary and scandalized looks of Morgana's retinue, he picks her up gently and carries her as fast as he can to her chambers. Morgana's barely breathing even with whatever Merlin's done, and there's something thick in his throat as he places her on the soft mattress. He leans on the bedposts while Gaius and Merlin administer to her, arguing in anxious whispers. Even after they magic up some antidote- apparently it's a well-known poison, the same that's been used for the potion used during the Mercian Poison incident, and they kept the rest of the plant just in case- her breathing is labored and Arthur is worried. The two magicians leave soon after, but Arthur remains in his place, arms crossed and vigilantly watching over her prone form.

It's only later that he recalls that Guinevere had left the dining hall right before Morgana was poisoned.

* * *

><p>She remains unconscious for three days. Her retinue, though considerably more hostile than before, has thankfully remained cooperative. They stay in their chambers now, offering prayers for the gods to spare their princess.<p>

Arthur is there whenever he has the time, whether it is before the knights' training session or after council meetings. She doesn't even stir during those days, and Arthur misses the fiery woman that so enjoys challenging him. His nighttime vigils continue. He trusts Merlin and Gaius- but he cannot shake off the feeling that she will somehow disappear if he turns around. And one day, she does.

He drops by briefly before his council meeting, not bothering to knock. Slipping in, he quietly approaches the bed. Lost in his thoughts, it takes a full minute before he realizes that the bed is empty.

"Merlin!" He panics immediately, calling for all the servants. He himself bolts to the quarters where Cornwall's emissaries are housed, praying that they have not simply taken her and left. She couldn't have just been _gone_ because she was still unconscious when he last saw her just this morning, but they couldn't have left with her without him being informed, and he's just really not thinking coherently right now. Arthur bursts through the heavy doors of the Cornwall delegation's lodgings.

He freezes, met by questioning and appalled gazes. It's only then that Arthur realizes they are having a private meeting and this really isn't a proper thing for the king of Camelot to be doing, and he meets their eyes rather shamefacedly; until he realizes that those green eyes are _her_ eyes, and that _she_ is sitting at the head of the table, staring like the rest of them.

He reaches her in three strides- then he wordlessly pulls her to him in an embrace. She's a little too warm, but her hair is soft and she fits just right into his arms. Morgana's breath hitches, and she barely lets out a gasp of air as she stays in his grasp. The rest of the room stays frozen and staring.

He stays like that a long while, and then Morgana unfreezes and pats his head awkwardly before pulling away even more awkwardly. She is blushing, and he realizes that nobody has moved even an inch during all that and god don't they have any sense of privacy? He opens his mouth to say something, anything-and then the room bursts out into applause as everyone claps for something-he has no idea what. All he knows is that he is grasping her hand tightly, making sure that she really is there with him.

* * *

><p>She leaves the next day.<p> 


	7. An Honestly Accidental Incident

He likes to think that their next meeting was a coincidence, him wandering upon Tintagel on a long hunting trip. The reality is that he planned the trip to wander deliberately close to Cornwall, so much so that they would be able to see the castle from the woods. He also likes to think that it was only a coincidence that he chanced upon the castle on her birthday, but the carefully wrapped necklace he slipped into his packs is harder to explain away.

In any case, he goes hunting that week in June, when Morgana had once mentioned in passing her birthday was. With only Merlin as company- not that he wanted company, but the boy was impossible to dislodge from his side- he rides straight through the forest, not even bothering to search for hints of game. They ride all day until they arrive at the castle. Arthur wanders the city surrounding the fortress of Tintagel incognito; though he too is spoken of in Cornwall, not many would be able to recognize him. From a tavern he hears that there is to be a masque for the Princess Morgana's twentieth birthday. Merlin grumbles as he is sent off to find a mask.

It is surprisingly easy for them to slip into their party. Perhaps the guard was simply too dumb- Arthur only hoped that his own in Camelot were a better lot than this bunch- but he simply let them through after a glance at their seal of nobility and their clothing. He didn't even recognize the royal seal of Camelot. Arthur doesn't hear Merlin as he hisses a warning that if the king is caught sneaking into Cornwall, there's no knowing what would happen. He's always been hotheaded in love. Or just very eager to argue with somebody. (Arthur denies to himself that this is a case of the former.) It would be good for him to get some knowledge of the goings on in a rival kingdom anyways.

The great hall of Tintagel is bright and airy; it is different from his own. Morgana is nowhere to be seen. Or perhaps she is among the dancers, identity hidden with a mask. He searches for long dark hair and flashing green eyes; he sees none. There is a blonde lady in red with warm chocolate eyes that sits at the head of the table with who seems to be King Gorlois, but no sign of her. So he leans moodily in a corner, half-hidden by a candelabra, as the revelries continue. At last it is time for the meal, and everyone unmasks; Arthur reluctantly does the same, looking around for a glimpse of her. It seems that fate is against him today. He is just about to give up and leave when icy metal is laid against his jugular. He freezes. He cannot even look back as a feminine voice speaks; but she is discreet and nobody even notices the scene and the voice is all too familiar.

"And what might the king of Camelot be doing in Cornwall, my lord?"

He breaks out into a smile. Morgana. But it's soon wiped off his face as the dagger prods more insistently.

"My lady. If you would be so kind as to refrain from threatening my life while questioning me."

He can feel her smiling a little too, and the dagger is withdrawn. He turns around and sees her, and he sees that her hair is hidden under a veil- small wonder that it was difficult to find her. She is meeting him in the eyes with that confrontational glint, but all he can think to say is "You should take that veil off- makes you look sallow. Not that you don't look sallow anyways."

She kicks him and he jumps away smirking. Seething, she says, "this, is a gift from one of my many suitors. He told me that it brings out my eyes. Not that you'd know anything about it." He stops smiling about the same time she says "suitors". She sighs. "Well, King Arthur, is antagonizing me on my birthday what you came to do?"

That reminds him. He fumbles the necklace out of his pocket. She stares. He says a little defensively, "I knew it was your birthday. Here." He thrusts it out to her, and stomps away. But that doesn't stop him from noticing that she has put it on when she goes to sit at the head of the table. Nor does it repress that warm feeling he gets when she fingers the jewel and smiles.

Merlin finds him and they slip out a little later. Nobody notices, and Merlin is only glad that no lasting damage has been done. He starts wondering whether somebody spiked the wine when Arthur cannot stop smiling the whole way to Camelot. The wondering turns into worry that the king hit his head against something when Arthur dismisses him to go rest without even doing any of his duties. It reaches full-blown panic when Arthur starts humming and smiling even when Guinevere finds him, angry and teary. He slips out before it gets messy- there are some thing he doesn't want to be involved in, destiny or not.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello! Estele here. Thank you Kreuse, forevercharmed01, hillevi, and .Northman for your kind reviews! Thank you in particular to hillevi, who made the very valid point of Morgana being a borderline Mary Sue. I was actually quite worried about that- but as always, I have an excuse. :) As you know, this is an Arthur-centric ArMor fic; I'm 'chronicling' from Arthur's point of view how he sees Morgana. And at first he won't be able to see any flaws, especially the big character flaws and the dark, dark side we keep hidden to ourselves. So bear with me- she's going to seem quite Mary-Suey for a while :( Sorry if that puts you off. As well as the anti-Guinevere thing. In my personal opinion, Gwen was mildly tolerable in the first season, and downright annoying from the start of the second. But that may very well be my personal bias for Morgana speaking :P**


	8. The Next

**AN: To those of you who are still reading this story (from the reviews, it really doesn't seem like there are any more), thank you. Life's been getting a bit hectic as it always does; and I'm reaching the end of my pre-written parts. So updates will be fewer between now. Sorry :(**

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><p>He doesn't see her for a long time after that.<p>

This is only to be expected-kings don't keep in touch and visit with other royal families for pleasure; it's strictly business. Unwanted ties that restrict decisions are detrimental to his ability to defend his kingdom. He hears of her often- she is something of a celebrity in these lands, her and her sister Morgause. Thinking back, he realizes that the blond lady at the head of the table was probably the crown princess. She has that keen look of battle-ready wits and experience like her sister; Arthur personally thinks Morgana is more beautiful. Not that he thinks she's beautiful- just more than her sister.

He's beyond furious when he's invited to her wedding to Cenred.

Nobody dares to approach him that day, not even Merlin. Guinevere is fallen from grace, having left court with Lancelot. Once upon a time she might have soothed him with her presence. Once upon a time, she wasn't suspected of being a poisoner. He had launched a private investigation of the incident, and though the evidence was inconclusive, it pointed in the general direction of someone in his own court. He didn't think that sweet Guinevere could ever do such a thing; but the doubt cast a shadow in his mind and she grew further from his heart as ever. She is no longer welcomed in court, no longer the first lady, and Arthur thinks he should probably get married soon to fill the empty space beside him. But today he's raging at the world and he has no idea why.

He accepts the invitation. It would be looked upon as a hostile front on Camelot's behalf if he refused to attend. So he sets out with a royal retinue to the wedding at Escetia, bearing gifts and seething all the while.

He arrives on the day of the wedding. In Cenred's castle, he doesn't see even a glimpse of the bride-to-be. And he's glad. He doesn't know how he'd react anyways. He spends the day getting to know Escetia- at least something useful might be derived from the trip.

He only wishes that he wasn't forced to sit in the front at the wedding. When the time finally comes and the bride walks up to the altar with a diaphanous veil and a dazzling white dress, he cannot bear to look at her. Then she reaches it and the priestess asks if there is any who object. It is only formality; no one is expected to do so. Arthur is very much tempted, but he grits his teeth and remains in his seat as the two say their vows. He glares at Cenred as the king lifts the veil on the bride; her blond hair is the last thing Arthur catches sight of as he clenches his fists and shuts his eyes. Then he stops.

Blond hair?

He hurriedly opens his eyes again and watches in disbelief as the princess's blond curls are fully revealed. Then everything lightens in his world and he's cursing the stupid messenger for messing up the princess's name and stupid Merlin for distracting him while he listened and stupid Morgana and Morgause for having such similar names. It's only then that he sees Morgana, smiling and lit up like the sun standing next to her sister; she's looking at the newlyweds and positively _glowing_. His attention is instantly diverted.

She doesn't notice him. He's thankful.

Later, at the feast that follows, he finds her and instantly sets her off with an off-hand remark. He watches her stomping off just like old times, and thinks the world has been set right again.

Then he finds out that Morgause has given up all claims to the throne of Cornwall, and Morgana has been made Crown Princess.

Morgana will be Queen of Cornwall.

Queens cannot marry kings unless their kingdoms are to be merged. (Not that he wants to marry her or anything.)It's just that second princesses are much more likely to marry, and there are less implications and complications for marrying one. As a second princess, Morgana's marriage would have had little impact on the dynamics of Albion. But now, should she decide to marry, she would be merging Cornwall with that of her husband's realm. (He doesn't think she'd ever marry anyone less than a king; it would be disadvantageous to her kingdom.) Morgause married for love (what she sees in Cenred he will never know) and gave up her right to the throne to be able to do so. And now Morgana will shoulder the burden.

He contemplates sending a delegation to vie for her hand- a thought he banishes soon after it comes into his mind. He is not eager to find love again. Guinevere-despite it all, he still cares for her-has married Lancelot and left court. It hurts. He loved her, and seeing her in the arms of another sends (not very sharp) stings to his heart. But it's over now, and he's sure he will get over it.

But Morgana's laughing eyes flashes through his vision, and he shakes his head vigorously in an attempt to dislodge all thoughts of her from his mind. He knows this is foolish- Morgana wouldn't care for him anyways, icy heartless sorceress that she is. He sighs and leans against his chair; he remains moody the whole long road home.


	9. All's Fair in War

**AN: Hey everyone! I was shocked by the sudden growth in reviews- thank you to AmethystDreamer, Kreuz106, jalna, lmarielondon, kruese, .x, and emerald sorceress for your very kind reviews. Thanks in particular to hillevi and .Northman for your many reviews- you make writing worth it. :)**

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><p>The plague travels quickly.<p>

It rounds the whole of Albion in the course of a month, leaving one dead for every two living. People are fearful; even the nobles have shut themselves away from all external contact, afraid of bringing the plague into their strongholds.

Arthur is forced to shut Camelot's doors. His people understand that it is best if everyone remained isolated from each other until this epidemic runs its course. It is so contagious that there are not even any bandits- they would be struck down easily. Merlin is helpless; he and Gaius know it to be magical in nature, but it is impossible for him to break the spell alone. Powerful Merlin may be, but even he cannot break an immensely complex disease that seems to have a tint of the old goddesses. Gaius speaks of a sorceress named Nimue, once a friend of Camelot and now its bitterest enemy in Cornwall, a priestess of the Triple Goddess given some power over life. It is whispered in Camelot that this is the work of the Druids; that they have brewed this disease to avenge their dead in the Great Plague. It is made more convincing by the reports of Cornwall having escaped the plague completely. Knowing their line of magic, Arthur thinks the entire populace cooked up some ward against the disease. But the lords of his council are starting to murmur that it is Cornwall causing the epidemic; there are calls for war. Arthur barely manages to reign them in for the time being by reminding them of Camelot's current situation and their previous experiences with Cornwall. He has no time for costly campaigns.

When it is finally over, Camelot is quick to recover. And the council renews its clamor for retribution; to invade Cornwall for the disease which they probably didn't cause. Arthur thinks that's the stupidest idea yet. But even he cannot control the bandits and the border militia; and soon enough they take independent action. A small band of men kills off a village of Druids in Cornwall. It is a massacre; none are spared.

Arthur is horrified. Not only because of the loss of life, but because this will lead to certain war. He demands those men arrested and brought to him for trial. When they do arrive at court and he tries them, the lords of the council oppose his wishes and votes to acquit them of wrongdoing. After all, the plague killed so many more people, they reason. Despite everything he tries, Arthur cannot find a way to pull Camelot back from this road to war. He knows that Cornwall has a great advantage over Camelot now- his people are tired, the food supplies low, while Cornwall stands unscathed from the plague.

The declaration of war comes far more quickly than he would have liked. This time, it is a messenger clad in armor who throws the ornate scroll at Arthur's feet as well as the customary gauntlet. And as Arthur berates his council for letting it come to this, he resigns himself into all-out war. He swallows his guilt as the treaty is discarded.

Cornwall's forces breach the outer villages of Camelot in a week. The battalions set there have been wiped out. Arthur gets there the day after; standing in his chain mail and red cloak among the blood and already decaying corpses, he cannot help but feel a searing regret. It was all for nothing.

A hand is laid on his shoulder. Arthur doesn't need to look up to know that it is Merlin, just as exhausted by the harsh conditions that they had been marching under. Too late. Even Merlin does not have the words to comfort him. All he says is a muttered "I'm sorry" before he continues on, looking for any survivors he can help treat.

Leon trots up, disregarding the gore surrounding him. "Sire, Cornwall has marched on. It seems they are heading to the citadel."

Arthur acknowledges him with a wordless nod. He takes a minute to compose himself, and then shouts the order for them to turn back to rejoin the forces defending the city of Camelot.

The outcome of the war becomes more and more obvious as it progresses. Camelot's forces are undersupplied and weak; Cornwall's is as strong as it always was. And she still leads them into battle, a goddess of war in silver armor and flowing midnight hair. But unlike last time, she refuses to stop at simply holding them back. She leads attacks on their camp, ambushes and strikes that pick off more and more knights. The tide of war is in her favor, and Arthur cannot do anything about that.

Arthur is in the throne room finalizing the defenses when he hears the report. Percival rushes in, disheveled, and he is uncharacteristically ashen with whatever it was he has to say.

"Sire, Cornwall's army has attacked the third battalion. They have set up camp in the plains before the city."

All assembled break into titters and murmurs of worry. Arthur silences them with a wave.

"Why have they not attacked the citadel yet? "

Percival is shamefaced. "I do not know."

It is then that a sentry tumbles in, panicked.

"Sire, the third battalion...a messenger…"

Arthur orders the messenger brought in. The man has the looks of an old war dog; his face is grim and marked with many scars. His red pendragon tunic is marred by blood. His voice, when he speaks, is gravelly and rough.

"My king. I am a captain of the third battalion. My commander has sent me to plead for reinforcements. We are being attacked on all fronts, and the accursed sorcerer army seems set on getting to Camelot. "

Arthur weighs the situation in his mind. He cannot send decent reinforcements without draining the defense of the citadel. Yet, the third battalion is the only thing holding Cornwall at bay. He makes his decision.

"I will lead the reinforcements myself."

He dismisses everyone and leaves to prepare for the battles ahead.

When Arthur arrives in the midst of another battle, he is shocked. His men are tired- the supplies have been meager and many are still weak from the plague. It is more a massacre than anything else. As blood stains the ground, he leads his knights into the thick of the fray, allowing the third battalion time for retreat. He loses sight of everything but the simple slash, hack, and slice of his sword into human flesh. It becomes a routine, the flash of his blade cutting into the grime to release ruby droplets of blood. Until he sees those green eyes again.

Somehow he manages to keep track of her movements, even as he loses himself in the violence. He doesn't want to face her, not after everything that's happened. He blurs her into another nameless enemy and gradually believes himself.

Then he comes face to face with her.

Her mouth is set, and her face is a blank mask. There is not even a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

Her sword swings viciously at him without hesitation. He counters it, and immediately launches an offensive. This seems so like the first time they meet, but he knows that this is different. Back then, he didn't know her wry wit, her little vanities with clothing and hair, the way her mouth would just quirk up in that crooked half smile when she was taunting him. This is a thousand dawn trainings with her, a hundred mock duels for amusement, one battle to the death in this bloody field. This is a his sword whistling down to her neck instinctively, then turning to target her side. He's battling her and himself, and he wants to say something but can't find the words. After all, what can you say in a situation like this? When your men have attacked her people and your countries are at war. What could he say?

As they parry and strike, a whirlwind rises- Merlin's signature melee move. Morgana does not even acknowledge its existence, only turns and hacks her way through the forest of dying humans. The whirlwind suddenly breaks off and dissipates to nothing- Arthur can see that Morgana has summoned her own magicians to counter Merlin; he notes smugly at least ten robed men and women all struggling against Merlin's power. The battle continues.

By sunset, it has grown too dark to continue this fight. Arthur signals Merlin to call a retreat; Cornwall's forces seems to hold back as well, tired by the day's battle. But Morgana keeps hacking away at the retreating army as the blood splatters her armor and her face, with only her hair left clean and glistening.

_Arthur glances at her through the mirror. "What are you doing? Surely it wouldn't take that long for even you to get ready."_

_Morgana ignores him, continuing to brush her hair and croon softly in that strange language as her eyes flash gold. Arthur rolls his eyes and taps his foot impatiently. She pulls the comb through her hair one last time and stops, her eyes flashing one last time. He is secretly unnerved by the blatant display of magic, but he hides it well with a sarcastic retort. "If milady is done fussing with her hair, perhaps the hunting party could start?"_

_She rolls her eyes. "Haven't you ever heard of hair care, sire?"_

_"I've never seen a woman fuss over her hair so long for a simple hunting trip."_

_"You've never had a woman hunt with you then."_

_"What did you do to your hair, anyways? Ward it?"_

_"I'm surprised you're so astute, Sire. It's a protective spell."_

_He snorts in disbelief. "You put a protective spell. On your hair."_

_She shrugs, the smirk still fixed on her face. "Of course. My hair is important. I do this every time my hair might be damaged."_

_Her smile fades away. "It keeps the blood out in battle."_

Her glossy hair is startling against the grime of the rest of the world. She seems caught up in the dance of death, bloodlust clouding her judgment. He is about to order Merlin to put her out when two of her own men bodily force her to stop. The crows circle overhead. And the next day, the battle picks up where it left off.

The impervious, stony commander of the troops that led Cornwall is replaced by a warrior drunk with bloodlust. Morgana laughs as she strikes and slices, butchering so many men as if they were sheep led to slaughter. The others of Cornwall are more restrained, but they are in a better condition than Camelot's soldiers and the tide is in their favor. Arthur can glimpse faces in the thick of battle- here a young knight pale and barely fighting, seeing the kraken for the first time; here an old and seasoned sergeant; there a spellcaster, someone to be targeted. They all die.

He cannot believe that the woman slaying his men today is the same Morgana that organized the same peace treaty. She is a force of nature, wild and pitiless and gruesome. Her mirthless laugh is painful to his ears.

_They are on a hunting trip. Morgana has just felled a deer, and she jumps down from her mount to slit its throat. Arthur watches, mildly quizzical._

_"Doesn't it disturb you, taking a life?"_

_Morgana raises an eyebrow, wiping the blood off her face. "Does it disturb you?"_

_Arthur rolls his eyes. "Of course not. I'm a knight. And a merciless killing machine."_

_She snorts. "So am I."_

_"But you're a lady. You should be at more ladylike pastimes."_

_"Such as?"_

_Arthur pauses to think. "Embroidery. Singing. Brushing your hair."_

_Morgana scoffs. "Please."_

_He smirks, and grows serious again. "When was your first time?"_

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_"When was the first time you killed somebody?"_

_Morgana too grows serious. "I was eight. There was a minor skirmish between Cornwall and Camelot. My father took me with him, told me that I should get used to war. That we need to protect our people. I was stationed as a sentry and I shot someone."_

_Arthur is silent for a brief while. "How do you cope with it?"_

_"Taking lives, you mean?"_

_Arthur nods, and Morgana smiles a not-smile._

_"My father told me that there are three ways people deal with the things they do in war. There are people who kill the memories completely; there are those that seek to atone; and there are those that accept it."_

_Arthur looks at her. "And which are you?"_

_Her smile drops. "I laugh."_

In the end, even the council acknowledge that this war is lost. They tell Arthur that they must sue for peace; Arthur replies that he never wanted war in the first place. But it is almost impossible to approach Cornwall at this time. No diplomatic protection is recognized. Arthur will not send off any men to certain death.

In the end, the battles continue as Arthur racks his brains to even find a way to speak to Cornwall. In the end, even Merlin cannot help him win these battles. In the end, men fall like so many dead leaves in autumn.

In the very end, he realizes that the only way to speak to them is to speak to her as a person to a person, not as an entity of the state.

He understands what he has to do.

As soon as his patrols mark out where her tent is, he puts all troops on hold and makes his way there. He doesn't want to think about what would happen should she decide to kill him. He doesn't think about the throne left empty with no heir apparent. All he thinks is that if this doesn't work, Camelot might as well be doomed. Maybe his father would have had a better solution to this. Maybe Uther was right when he said he wasn't ready for the kingship.

With these thoughts weighing down his mind, it's a wonder he reaches her tent unnoticed. It is not difficult, although it isn't quite easy either. There is no light emanating from the canvas dwelling; he only hopes she is awake and not going to try to kill him as soon as she sees him. He walks in the shadows and slips through the cloth folds of the tent; his eyes have adjusted enough to see basic outlines.

She is asleep on a sleeping mat. Her sleep-tossed curls messily spill over her pillow- her brows are smoothed in repose. Arthur stares for a while, trying to figure out what to do next. He cannot bring himself to wake her; the shadows below her eyes are prominent even in the darkness. Has she slept at all since this thrice-cursed war began? As he looks down at her, the full moon suddenly comes out of the clouds and shines moonlight through the flap of the tent he had forgotten to close. Her features are put into sharp relief; he flinches in surprise and whirls around, knocking a goblet off the rough wooden stand. She bolts up, green eyes snapping open and a little panicked. She sees him and reaches for her dagger; he instinctively grabs both her wrists and bodily drags her up to pin her to the pole with his superior strength. Fear flashes through her eyes, and before they can flash gold Arthur holds both her wrists with one hand and slips an amulet over her head. Merlin, though unsure whether this was the best course of action or it would be just better if he knocked Arthur out before he did it, had given him the charm to block her magic and to silence her for a limited amount of time. Not knowing exactly how powerful the princess is, Merlin had warned him that the charm would last two hours at the very most.

Morgana seems to feel its power- her eyes widen and she struggles desperately to escape. The playing field is no longer even; he holds the power right now, and she is frightened. Skilled she may be with weapons, but she is no match for him unarmed. There is no telling what he would do. She stops, lets out a strangled sound as she recognizes who her attacker is, and then renews her struggling anew. He is forced to press her harder into the wood of the pole-she finally stills in defeat.

They stay like that for a little while, his hands manacling her slim wrists and her backed up against the tent's scaffolding. Arthur just looks at her, then realizes that time is already ticking.

"I won't hurt you. Relax."

The look in her eyes is hard to read- something between disbelief and exasperation and that fear so uncharacteristic of her. He can feel her trembling, and he realizes that she is dressed in a white nightgown, thin and flowing. His face burns up. He clears his throat and turns his face away. Thoughts of his duty suddenly escape from his mind and all that pops out of his mouth is, "Isn't what you're wearing a little inappropriate for a general in the battlefield?"

She is surprised by that; then she rolls her eyes and the fear slides away. She forms soundless words with her mouth- he's sure it's something like "Clotpole" and "Idiot". He grins a little, then it fades away as he remembers. "Morgana." She tilts her head. "I need you to listen to me."

She raises one eyebrow. He continues on. "I need you to allow Camelot to negotiate with Cornwall. We want to sue for peace."

Her face is one of disbelief. She stays silent, but she meets his eyes squarely. He can read confusion in her expression.

"I never wanted this war. I know it's Camelot's fault- but I assure you that the border patrol acted against my orders. Enough have died. Please, Morgana. At least give us the chance to end this war."

He slowly lets go of her wrists. She rubs them, looking thoughtful. He reaches out and pulls the amulet off her. He can almost hear Merlin groaning at his stupidity, but he wants this to be on even ground. He doesn't like having her completely under his power- he doesn't know whether he could control himself. She looks up at him.

Then her eyes flash gold and he's pushed away and off his feet onto the floor. He meets her eyes- what on earth was that for?- and she lets out a shuddering breath. Then she sees the unspoken question written on his face. She raises an eyebrow.

"That, idiot, was for intruding in my tent and assaulting me in the middle of the night. And for startling me."

He ruffles his hair, embarrassed. Fair enough. She holds out a hand and pulls him to his feet when he takes it.

An hour later, they are both sat down at the wooden table. He is reasonably satisfied- she has agreed for a three-days' truce in which he would be given leave to formally address the court of Cornwall. She leans back against the chair and closes her eyes. He looks at her, and sees those dark circles under her eyes again. He cannot resist. "Up to some mischief every night, are we? You should be getting some sleep."

Her eyes open wearily. "When I'm not being attacked by enemy kings, yes. I assure you I do sleep in the night like normal people."

"Then how would you explain those unflattering smudges around your eyes- is it the fashion in Cornwall now? I must say I'm disappointed."

Her slight smile drops. "The plague. Seven days and seven nights the priestesses have had to cast spells to ward our people. Morgause was always better at it, but she's gone now. I had to preside-the others can take turns. I can't."

He looks at her. It is difficult to believe, them sitting together bickering like old friends when they're waging war against each other. And now he has ample cause to break off the war (if he didn't already have enough). Cornwall has escaped with help, not caused the plague. He considers calling in more magic users into Camelot, in case something like this happens again.

Lost in thought, he does not notice as she leaves the table and plops down on her sleeping roll. He realizes that she is no longer there when he hears her arranging the blankets around her. Arthur turns and looks at her from the chair.

She doesn't bother getting up again. "I would rather like to get some sleep tonight, as you probably will too. You should go."

He nods and prepares to leave. But her voice stops him. "And Arthur?"

He glances back. She speaks again. "You're an honorable man. Thank you."

Arthur nods once and leaves her. And again, he cannot repress that warm feeling rising in his chest as he returns to camp.

He blames it on having succeeded in his mission.


	10. Aftermath and Towels

She is present when he goes to Cornwall to make a formal apology. It is one of the principal terms for peace- that Arthur personally atone for his men's actions to the relatives of the massacred village. And as Arthur and his entire retinue kneels before the rag-tag gathering of peasants and druids, he thinks that this is a just punishment. Though he had not ordered the village razed, it is partly his fault for being unable to control his men. He is only thankful that Gorlois is a just king, and that he has not seen fit to extract a hefty tribute. Camelot would have suffered long from such a penalty, recovering as it is in the wake of the plague.

So his pride is not even rankled as he speaks absolutely sincere words of regret and apology to the relatives of the dead villagers. And they seem to accept it, though it is clear they will never completely forgive. But in time, perhaps they will understand that he meant no harm. And Arthur is content with the thought.

The times they leave in are by no means peaceful- there are so many wars and conflicts that it isn't hard to pretend that the people you're talking with haven't been trying to kill you for the past month. It isn't hard to forget that you've been killing their families for a lot longer either.

Afterwards, there is a rather subdued feast in which they sign the renewed peace treaty. The ceremony is long and tedious, and Arthur is relieved when they all manage to get through it alive. Gorlois seems just as relieved that nothing has gone wrong. Perhaps he is remembering the poisoning incident in Camelot the last time they forged such a treaty. In any case, the revelries begin and Arthur is eager to enjoy it. He downs a glass of wine and leaves the table to join the lightened atmosphere of the dancers.

Morgana is whirling in the midst of them all and laughing. She seems carefree and happy, a far sight from the guarded leader of armies and sarcastic and lofty dignitary that he has come to know. A far sight from the grim and laughing killing machine. She twirls from partner to partner, airy and delighted as if nothing will bring her down. Arthur subconsciously makes his way towards her. She doesn't notice until she ends up in his arms in the middle of a rather spirited dance. She looks up at him and hurriedly pulls away. He holds on to her hand and goes through the dance with her, until it is time to let her go and she finds yet another partner.

He loses her among the countless faces in the ballroom. When he finally sights her again, she is dancing a slow waltz with an obviously enamored knight_- holy heaven please tell me it's not Gwaine and his obnoxiously perfect hair-_ and the crowds have thinned somewhat. The night has grown deep and the feast is winding down. Inebriated lords and ladies stumble past him, on their ways to their chambers. The musicians finish their piece, there is a smattering of applause, and King Gorlois leaves for his bed, signaling the official end to the banquet. More people drift out of the hall, and Arthur is dismayed at the number of Camelot knights that seem rather incapitated. From what he can see of their states of being, everyone is going to have a massive hangover by dawn training.

He sees Gwaine stumbling towards the balcony and grabs him before he injures himself. Setting the knight in the general direction of the knight's quarters, Arthur suddenly realizes that Morgana is obviously no longer dancing. He gives Gwaine a gentle push to get him going and scans the now near-empty hall.

She is leaning back on a chair, arm over her eyes. When he makes his way over to her, she drops the arm and opens one eye to peer at him.

"Oh. King Arthur." She doesn't bother standing up or curtseying. Arthur grins and takes her hand.

"My lady." He yanks her to her feet and she stumbles up, shaking him off before plopping back down on the chair. It's about then that he realizes that she is most probably dead-drunk.

She doesn't sound like it, speaking as articulately as she would when sober, but it's clear that she's tipsy from her rosy cheeks, unbalanced walk, and the nonsense she sprouts out on occasion. Although, now that Arthur thinks about it, she sprouts out nonsense on occasion anyways.

"Enjoying the feast,"-_hic-_ "Sire?" She tries to drink from a goblet near her, but misses and knocks it over instead. It spills the red liquid into her silk dress. The stain blends into her deep burgundy skirts.

Arthur rights the goblet and places it away from her reach. He's never seen her so undone. She pouts.

"Don't be a spoilsport. Hand it over."

"You shouldn't be drinking any more."

"Why? Why shouldn't I be drinking it? It's better than planning another massacre."

Arthur feels sick to the stomach. "Watch your tongue."

Morgana sighs. "When can I not?"

"When you have better things to say."

She chuckles. "Touché."

Arthur is reminded of her haunting laughter on the battlefield, mirthless and cold. He can't help but ask, "Why?"

"Why what, King Arthur?"

He pauses, hesitant. "Why do you enjoy killing?"

"And why would you think that?"

He is suddenly angry. "I don't get it. You're collected and calm in one skirmish, and the next you're laughing as you slaughter my men. Tell me. Why?"

Morgana seems too drunk to take real offense. She simply snaps, "It's no worse that what you men do. You go off on your righteous quests, striking down people in the name of good and honor. Well, _Sire_, it's not like that. It's just a matter of chance who lives or dies."

Arthur looks down at his hands; he can almost imagine them bloody from the battlefield. "Then why do you laugh?"

Morgana tilts her head. "You cope with killing by justifying it; I do it by laughing at its senselessness. Is that so wrong?"

He looks at her. "You're belittling their deaths. Making light of their sacrifice."

She laughs, grimly this time, and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can see them, you know."

"See what?"

"Them. The dead ones. Oh, they'll be gone before long. Mother, father, brother, son. Tonight's when I banish them."

Arthur's throat constricts. "You're drunk."

"So what if I am? It makes it more bearable anyways." She reaches for the goblet, but he knocks it away. She sighs. "Don't mind me. I'm only making things up. I'm glad it's over."

"Don't even joke about things like that."

She repeats, "I'm glad it's over." and he puts that queer exchange away.

He tries to get her to her chambers, but she insists on staying in that particular chair. Aggravated, he ends up picking her up bodily and carrying her, while she shrieks and squirms.

She finally twists out of his grasp and gets to her feet. She grins. "Catch me if you can."

Arthur is rather confused- until she swings herself out the window to land in the courtyard. He rushes to the window and glares down at her, and she laughs.

"Don't be so serious, Arthur. Do you give up yet?"

Arthur is glowering by now, so that he doesn't even catch how she called him by just his first name for the first time. His pride rankled, he growls and rushes after her.

If any of the lords and ladies had looked out of their windows at that hour, they would have seen the Princess of Cornwall running around the courtyard being chased by the King of Camelot. But the ones that did were too drunk to remember anyways.

Arthur, being not as inebriated, catches her before long. Futilely trying to shake his grip on her wrist, she pouts. "Fine. You win."

Arthur finds his voice. "You need to go to your chambers."

She sighs theatrically. "And how will you make me?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Either you go there on your own two feet or I drag you there."

She smirks. "As you will, milord. I'll be good now and go to my room. But before that." He suddenly remembers how she had called him just Arthur. She giggles a little. "It's tradition that a lady get a goodnight kiss from the last gentleman she sees."

He is dumbfounded, and his eyes can't help but be drawn to her lips. He stutters for a while, unable to find a decent reply.

She giggles again, and he grits his teeth. "That's not funny."

Her lips curve up into an amused smile. "Oh, but it is." She leans on tiptoes and pecks him on the cheek. "'Night, milord."

.

She's completely forgotten about it in the morning- all she has of last night is a massive hangover. She doesn't even notice Arthur staring at her for prolonged periods of time every once in a while.

Arthur is saved the embarrassment of having the court notice his sudden fascination with Morgana's face because he leaves in two days. During those two excruciatingly long days, he avoids Morgana as best he can. Even oblivious Merlin notices his strange behavior.

"You know, Sire, you keep avoiding her and people will start to talk."

Arthur flushes. "Shut up, _Mer_lin."

The warlock rolls his eyes and goes back to inspecting Arthur's shirts. Though he has not been Arthur's servant for a long while now, he does the chores- with magic- for old time's sake. And Arthur insults him every now and then- for old times sake.

Merlin doesn't quite know what to think of Morgana- so he sits back and watches as Arthur embarrasses himself again and again with her. It's quite good sport. And she takes him down a peg or two, whenever his pratty side resurfaces. Arthur has been too burdened by kingship to be quite as arrogant as when he was a prince, but he has his moments.

And right now is one of them.

"_Mer_lin, can't you tell the difference between a shirt and a dress? How on earth did this…" and here Arthur gestures vaguely at some shapeless piece of pink cloth that resembles a dress "_thing_ get into my wardrobe?"

He rolls his eyes and shakes it out. It turns out not to be a dress, but a fluffy towel with pompoms on the edges. Arthur is even more horrified at its fluffiness. "Get that monstrosity out of my chambers!"

Merlin bites back a chuckle. "Why don't you keep it, Sire? Might come in useful." Dropping the offending cloth to the floor, he resumes packing for the trip back to Camelot. Arthur picks it up himself, making sure to hold it out as far away from him as possible, and drops it out the window. Seeing it float down, Arthur turns back with a sigh. Then promptly lets out what he later will insist was a manly shout. And not a scream of surprise as he sees the very same towel in the exact same place it was before. Merlin has a hard time keeping back his laughter. Arthur grits his teeth.

"Merlin, get rid of this...this thing now. I don't care what you do. Burn it. Tear it. Banish it to some unknown plane of existence. Just get it out of my sight."

Rolling his eyes at the king's theatrics, Merlin snaps his fingers and the towel disappears- only to be replaced with yet another towel. Merlin frowns and snaps his fingers again. Once again, it disappears- and then comes back.

"AAARRG!"

.

A good half-hour later, both Arthur and Merlin are panting with exhaustion, thoroughly aggravated. Shreds of pink towel surrounds the room, yet there is a pristine untouched pink towel in the exact place he left it. Arthur curses and throws down his sword. At that moment, Morgana pokes her head in.

"Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?"

Arthur looks from the scattered fleece to Morgana to Merlin, then frowns. "Princess Morgana, this wouldn't be your doing by any chance, would it?"

Morgana's face is innocent, her eyes wide. "Why, whatever are you talking about? I don't go around shredding pink towels." She glides into his chambers and pokes the pink towel with her foot. "May I compliment you on your choice of colors, milord. Suits your hair very well."

Arthur growls. "_That_ is here by some means of sorcery. And I want it gone now."

She picks the towel up. "Why? Whatever could this poor towel have done to the king of Camelot?"

He is annoyed. "It's _pink_. And it refuses to be removed."

She smirks. "Well, I guess you'll have to take it along with you then." She drops it into the half-packed bags merlin has been working on. "I'm here to escort you out. But it seems I must wait."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive."

When Merlin finally finishes with no further mishaps, Morgana leads them to the great hall. More tedious speeches are made, toasts drunk to the new treaty, and the court goes to the main gates to bid Arthur and his retinue farewell. Morgana stands to King Gorlois's right. When Arthur and Merlin passes by her, she winks at Merlin and nods at Arthur. He nods back.

.

The moment Merlin starts unpacking Arthur's bags in Camelot, the pink towel jumps out and dances a little tap-dance on two of its four corners. Arthur can't help laughing, and the towel suddenly 'talks' in Morgana's voice: "Hope you enjoy my little gift, gentlemen. Don't try to burn it, now. This is payback for that snake in my chambers." After the message, it flops down, an average pink fluffy towel once more. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"What snake?"

Merlin's guilty face is enough to make Arthur figure it out. He rounds on Merlin with a sadistic smile.

Merlin spends the night mucking out the stables. All the stables in the entire city.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello again, and big thank yous to hillevi, AudreySalvatoreNorthman, SanveanO, and catalONIAmaes for their very kind reviews. As to hillevi's request for an explanation of Morgana's behavior, I was actually angling towards it being all her. As Morgana says in the flashback in chapter 7, and in this chapter, she deals with killing by laughter. And you know she has this dark, almost sadistic side to her that only comes out- I think it's more the sense of her being in control and the sheer adrenaline coursing through. She regrets the lives taken, of course. But she can't help enjoying the physical aspect of battling, of testing herself and of overpowering. Morgana loses herself. She isn't a perfect icy warrior princess-she breaks and fails and sometimes is blinded by bloodlust. At least, that's what I imagine Morgana to be. And this is one of her darker characteristics that I mentioned weren't going to be visible to Arthur at first. I mean, who wants to tell her destined love (although neither of them know it yet) that she can't control herself in battle- and that she thrives in killing? I don't think she knows it much herself. **

**Thank you for any and all feedback! **


	11. Letters from Cornwall

**A/N: thank you to reviewers;**

**As to emerald sorceress's question of how Guinevere gets the money for the banquets, Arthur does trust her enough to give her access to the royal treasury. She's like the resident party-planner, as well as being Arthur's soon-to-be fiancé. Though we know how that turns out :P. I know I portray her horribly and nothing like the real Guinevere, but I'm very bitter about her. Even if she's probably the most realistic out of all of the characters. I'd run and hide too if I saw these ghostly skeletons keening doom. But this is Arthurian times, in a land of myths and magic, where people were more courageous and wise and brave. So I'm sticking with Morgana. :P.**

**And yes, Arthur gets really annoyed whenever someone seems to be blaming him for his father's deeds. He does rebuke Merlin for saying something along those lines; but it's kind of hard to say the same to a floating disembodied skull made of mist. And he's too busy trying to do something about them killing masses of villagers and all to actually care about what they're saying. He would very much like to run them through with many sharp objects if they actually did have a tangible form. But alas they don't. Ah well. **

**The Dorocha actually did say that over and over just to annoy Arthur. :) It's all part of their evil plot. Muhahaha….**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

_Greetings to King Arthur._

_I trust this finds you well. Camelot and Cornwall being allies, my father has suggested that we keep correspondence. I hope this is not an inconvenience._

_How are you faring with my last present? Don't try to burn it, no matter what- it will multiply if you do so. Defenestrating it leads to it crawling back up the corridors. For your own sake, I hope you haven't done any of these things. It would be so tiresome to have a castle filled with pink towels. _

_On a more serious note, have you noticed any peculiar happenings in Camelot? I do not wish to intrude, but I cannot help remembering the magical incidents that occurred during my stay. We have received reports of strange things at the border near Camelot; my father does not believe it to have any relation to you, but I think differently._

_Merlin and I have devised this spell to ensure a confidential and prompt courier system. You need only place the ring that was a present from me on the letter addressed to me and it will be transferred over. I shall do the same, but with the necklace that you gave me. According to Gaius's book, the gifts have traces of us, which allows this one-way connection to be maintained._

_I await your reply,_

_Morgana_

.

Arthur quizzically reads the letter that has suddenly appeared on his desk . Merlin had told him to expect something from Cornwall, but he had expected more conventional methods of delivery. Instead, the ring he always wears on his left index finger now had let out a burst of light and produced this letter.

He reads it again with consternation. He knows that keeping correspondence with another royal family is convenient at best, and suicidal at worst. There are so many dangers to it- he could accidently tell a vital piece of information that could be used against him, or if he grows affectionate that could be an advantage for the other country. But this is Morgana and he doesn't believe that she'd do something like that. Blackmail him, yes. Threaten him with bodily harm yes. Attempt to kill him, definitely. But she wouldn't take advantage of letters to spy on Camelot. Gorlois doesn't seem like the plotting type either. And this could turn out to be mutual beneficial. She has helped defend Camelot (maybe to save herself, as she was living here) and the letter holds mildly concerning news. Strange things at the border. _Cornwall as well?_

"Arthur! There's been another griffin attack near the villages!" Merlin runs in. But his voice holds no panic or surprise; over the last few months there had been attacks almost daily. Arthur raises his eyebrows.

Merlin stops and sighs. "It's already been taken care of. Just thought you'd like to know. "

Arthur smiles a grim smile. "Nice to know Gwaine's gotten everyone back in shape."

Merlin notices the letter on Arthur's writing desk. He smiles nervously. "Um, nice to see you've gotten a letter from Morgana."

"Yes, _Mer_lin. But what I'd like to know is why on earth you'd make this spell behind my back. How long?" Arthur growls.

"Um, we keep in touch?" Merlin backs away slightly, and Arthur snorts.

"It doesn't matter. Morgana's said there's things happening in Cornwall as well. Perhaps it's a common enemy."

Merlin seems doubtful. "We've had these attacks since from Uther's reign. I'm pretty sure they haven't had any before."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Well, they have it now. Get out, will you? I need to write."

Merlin smirks. "Yes sire." He shuts the door behind him.

Arthur takes up his quill, rummages for a clean piece of parchment, and pauses. How to start.

_Dear Morgana,_

Would that be too familiar? After all, this is a state correspondence. But he had never referred to Morgana with her full title, and he doesn't want this to be stiff and formal. He shakes his head, annoyed. Since when had he been this indecisive?

_Dear Morgana,_

_I have disposed of the towel in a suitably humane way. It is languishing in the dungeons, where it will stay for all eternity. The prisoners were glad to hear they will never run out of clean towels. I am glad to hear that you are well and terrorizing Cornwall with your presence. Please give them my condolences._

He stops. Pleasantries were never his forte. Perhaps he should simply get to the point. He could only be thankful that this was relatively less formal and therefore written in English, rather than the Latin reserved for treaties and absolutely formal messages.

_Camelot suffers from magical beasts nearly daily. Some- not all- bring messages of doom, as the Dorocha did. We have grown to ignore them. My knights are of course more than capable of dealing with such threats. Perhaps we can give your woefully inadequate troops some pointers. Still, have you any knowledge of any common enemy that might be behind this?_

_Arthur_

There. It was done. Perhaps shorter messages would make this more convenient for both of them. And this would not be a weak spot- he would not grow attached to Morgana of all people through simple letters. He takes off the ring, rubs it to call forth that warm light again, and suddenly nervous, places it on the parchment. The light flashes and Arthur involuntarily steps back, his vision suddenly blinded by dark spots. When he can finally see again, he notes that the letter has disappeared. He grins. Let's see what else this spell of hers could send.

.

_Greetings to King Arthur._

_I guess it has been too much to hope that your ego has been deflated since I last saw you. You put too much pride in your knights. I shall make it my personal mission to bring you down a notch or two in a duel when I see you once more._

_Being closer to the sea, Cornwall has more problems with water demons and other such creatures. They have been more of a nuisance these days. Nothing like the Dorocha, however. It is only that we are unused to magical attacks. Cornwall has usually been safe from them._

_In truth, I am worried by these incidents. It is no coincidence that both our kingdoms are suffering such similar situations. And these creatures act so unsettlingly. Many give silent messages. The ones that talk, speak of doom shared with Camelot. The ones that can't, scratch messages on the dirt or else have an amulet that speaks for them. I do not know what to make of it._

_I hope Camelot fares well in these times._

_Morgana_

.

The correspondence lasts for many months. One day, she details methods Cornwall uses to fight off Ceffyl Dwrs, water horses. He responds by noting how griffins seem to target Camelot often, and how the blacksmiths have developed specialized spears specifically designed for fighting them. She sends him a sketch of the sea from Tintagel's battlements; he teases her that she is turning into a real lady. He sends her a penknife that he finds in his rooms; the ring glows but does nothing, and it is only when Arthur realizes that he needs to address it to Morgana that it is sent. The next letter comments that the penknife nearly impaled her when it dropped onto the desk. He rolls his eyes at that, but he makes a note to himself never to send sharp objects to her.

.

_Dear Morgana,_

_I guess you're getting rusty, being taken by surprise by a mere lifeless penknife. I would never allow such thing to happen. How big is the capacity for your little spell to send things, anyways? Perhaps I can get Merlin to brew up a remedy for your face. I don't doubt that you need it._

_Griffins seems to be our common enemy's preferred method of attack on Camelot still. I can only be thankful that they haven't yet set a dragon on us. Perhaps it would be best if I hunted down where these griffins make their nests and eliminate it. The sorcerer probably is breeding them-I thought they were something of an endangered species. Apparently I am wrong._

_Would your people be willing to scry the lands for the source? Camelot can withstand all of these attacks of course, but it seems more efficient to attempt to strike at the source. I would not like to lose any of my knights on these meaningless attacks._

_Arthur_

.

He's tempted to try sending Merlin through, on a day when he's rather annoyed at his lack of wits. He sends a live dove instead, tying a note to it and placing the ring on the bird. The bird breaks free just before the magic can take affect, and he spends quite a while trying to subdue the bird. The white feathers fluttering everywhere aggravates him all the more. He sends it anyways, imagining how she would have to chase that bird around with a broomstick or something as its feathers bombard her rooms. He forgets she has magic.

She sends him a cat, with a ribbon tied to it. Arthur is in the middle of a council meeting when his ring flashes and a tabby cat lands on the table. It seems to be displeased by the trip- it yowls angrily and promptly scratches Arthur. And he was wearing his good shirt too. He dismisses the council and shuts the door before the cat can escape. He stares at the furry creature, wondering what on earth Morgana was thinking, sending this to him. He finally takes his cloak, wraps the cat up in it, and dumps it in his private chambers. Arthur is appalled when the cat drops out and immediately hacks out a fur ball with a few white feathers mixed in. He's never liked cats, but that crosses the line.

Merlin comes in, only to find Arthur's forearms bleeding and the cat hissing. Arthur's thunderous expression forces him to stifle any snorts of laughter.

"Merlin, make yourself useful and get that monstrosity out of my chambers!"

Merlin smirks, "But I'm sure you're more qualified to take on that fearsome monster."

Arthur is annoyed. "It ate my bird!" Merlin raises an eyebrow.

"And since when were you so attached?"

Arthur makes as if to strangle somebody. "Merlin."

Merlin puts his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine." His eyes glow yellow and the cat is levitated out the open door.

Arthur picks up the note that came with the cat. After a few seconds, he frowns.

"Merlin, have we had any mysterious notes challenging me to go to the Isle of the Blessed on a quest to stop these magical attacks?"

Merlin looks extremely guilty. "Er…"

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

"We might've… gotten one...but it's probably a joke...no need to concern yourself…" Merlin inches towards the door. Arthur lunges and grabs him by the collar. "Let's try this again. Did we, or did we not, get a note challenging me to a quest?"

Merlin gulps. "We...did?" Arthur releases him.

"Then why wasn't I informed, Merlin?"

The sorcerer starts scooting away from his reach. "Ah, I, didn't think it was necessary for you to know?"

Arthur inhales deeply in an attempt to keep his temper. "So you willingly kept such vital information from your king?"

"It's a trap!"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes I know it's going to be a trap."

Merlin looks at him hopefully. "So you aren't going to insist on going and force me to use magic to confine you, after which you'll attempt to kill me for doing that?"

Arthur smirks. "No, I'm going and I'm going to defeat this mysterious enemy before he has a chance to spring the trap." He looks at Merlin. "Morgana's received the same message. The sorcerer has bargained calling off all attacks on Camelot and Cornwall on the condition of both Morgana and myself travelling to the Blessed Isle."

"Where he'll kill you both! Where have we heard this before?"

"What else can we do? Morgana's made up her mind to go, but this sorcerer requires both of us."

Merlin is almost pulling out his hair in exasperation. "Then tell her not to go!"

Arthur suddenly turns serious. "You know I can't do that. It's my duty as king to defeat all threats to my kingdom. This is my only chance to know who has been behind these attacks."

Merlin cries, "Then let me go!

Arthur shakes his head. "That's not possible. I need to do this."

"Think about what will happen if you die on this quest!"

Arthur's mouth hardens, but he doesn't reply. He has no heir apparent; he is not even married. The only relation Arthur has is his uncle, and it's more than likely there's going to be a bloody struggle for the throne if he doesn't come back.

Merlin looks at him. "Camelot needs you. You can't risk your life on this."

"I can't let my knights risk their lives for me every day knowing I had a chance to fix this," he replies.

"It's their duty!"

"And this is mine."

.

_Greetings to King Arthur._

_All preparations on Cornwall's part have been made . I trust the same is true with Camelot. I shall be waiting at midday the coming week at the borders, if you are agreeable to it. I would not plan on being away longer than a fortnight- Merlin has said that the journey is short, and time runs differently there. There should be enough game to keep up supplies should we both hunt._

_I hope this works._

_Morgana._

.

In the end, Merlin rides out to the prearranged meeting place with Arthur. Though he knows that this is akin to suicide, he can't stop fate or Arthur's determination. They ride in silence, just the two of them, to the forest. The plans have all been worked out; Morgana and Arthur would meet at the ancient forest near the borders and ride to the Isle of the Blessed together. Merlin has been there once before; he has plotted the safest route possible for them both. Too soon, they arrive at the edge of the forest .

Morgana is waiting there, astride a brown gelding and in simple hunting clothes. Her father stands behind her, patting her hand while surreptitiously looking over her saddlebags to estimate whether it is sufficient. Morgana leans down and kisses her father on the cheek, whispering a goodbye before straightening up to face Arthur. Her eyes are dry.

Arthur is wearing plain chain mail. He has left out any traces of the Pendragon red in an effort to be less conspicuous. On his white horse he seems like a gallant knight straight out of the legends, his fair hair gleaming in the sun.

They ride closer to each other. Arthur inclines his head.

"Morgana."

She smiles slightly. "King Arthur. It's good to see you haven't pulled out at the last minute."

Gorlois is mortified. "Morgana!"

But Arthur only laughs and looks at her. "And the same to you. Well, milady, shall we be off then?"

She smirks. "Do try to keep up." With a final wave at her father and Merlin, she kicks her horse into a gallop. Arthur nods at them both and spur his horse on. They head off through the forest, leaving Merlin and Gorlois standing at the edge of the forest.

Gorlois shakes his head. "I'm too old for this."

Merlin pats his arm comfortingly. "So am I."


	12. And the Quest Begins

**A/N: Thank you, as always, to reviewers! We've reached 50! :)**

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><p>The scenery grows dull after a few hours, and the bickering has started to become more savage. Both of them are sore from the saddle despite being no strangers to this kind of extended trips. But neither wants to be the first to call for a rest.<p>

As they pass Mercia's borders, Arthur pants, "Shouldn't you be having a rest, Morgana? Surely the pace isn't suitable for such a lady."

She snipes back, "I assure you, milord, I'm more than capable of continuing for much longer than this. But if you are tired, we could take a break."

Arthur pulls at the reins to bring his horse to an abrupt stop. Morgana goes on for a little more, then notices and turns back to him.

Morgana raises an eyebrow, and to that unspoken question Arthur replies, "I'm tired of this milord, your highness business. Call me Arthur."

Her eyebrow inches further up her forehead. "But milord,"-he grimaces at that-"that wouldn't be proper."

He blurts out, "You certainly didn't have any problem with it when you were drunk."

"What are you talking about?"

Arthur starts to realize that this might not have been the right thing to say, especially since she doesn't remember. But he forges on. "You called me just Arthur that night at the banquet for the peace treaty in Cornwall. You were drunk, and I had to drag you back to your chambers before you made a fool of yourself."

She frowns. "I don't recall any such…" Her eyes widen. "Don't tell me I…"

Arthur has no idea what she is going on about. "I don't know what you're thinking, but what happened was that you drank a lot, started to make obscene jokes, made me chase you around the courtyard, then I threatened to carry you to your chambers if you wouldn't go on your own. That was after everyone else had left." _Then you kissed me on the cheek_, he adds silently.

Morgana is visibly relieved. "That's it then?"

Arthur wants to know what she was so worried about, but he represses the question. He rolls his eyes. "Yes, that's it. But you were calling me Arthur the whole time. And we're going to have to work together on this quest. So- Arthur."

Morgana grins crookedly. "Fine. Just Arthur." She looks around. "Since we've stopped and all, why don't we just rest here? Being a king and all, I'm sure you're tired."

Arthur ignores the subtle taunt and accepts the decision. They break fast with bread and hard cheese, then stretch out on the meadow to rest awhile. There is a comfortable silence, then Morgana breaks it.

"You know we're probably both going to die on this quest, right?"

He rolls over to look at her. They are lying side by side on their cloaks, and the warmth of the sunlight is making him lethargic.

"Does that scare you?" he asks.

She meets his eyes. "Yes. Doesn't it scare you too?"

Arthur doesn't like the slightly heavy mood this is creating. "No. Why would I be? I understand you being frightened, being a lady and all."

Morgana doesn't take the bait. "I would have thought you'd be worried about the throne you're leaving empty. Merlin can only do so much, you know."

Arthur instantly grows sober. " I know. But I have to do this."

Another pause, and Morgana grins. "No need to worry, Arthur, my father would probably conquer Camelot and save your lords the trouble."

Arthur grins back. "Then I'd better get back alive. I-" He bolts up. "Did you hear something?"

She gets to her feet more slowly. "No, I didn't-" She frowns. There is the distinct sound of galloping horses, growing louder. She grabs his arm. "Where are we?"

Arthur squints out. "Near Mercia. I would say we're in the border woods in Escetia at the moment." Her eyes widen, and she pulls him towards the horses.

"We need to get out of here fast. I'd bet anything that's Mercia's patrols."

Arthur picks up both their cloaks and unties the reins. He fumbles with his knot, and by the time he undoes it, the first of the patrol is clearly visible over the hill. Morgana curses and leaps on her horse. Arthur follows. They are off and galloping away by the time the patrol sees them. Arthur is only thankful that he remembered to leave out any visible marks of Camelot; this would technically be a breach of borders and a cause for war. They make it to the forest, then Morgana shouts, "Can you still hear them?"

He yells back, "No! Should we keep going?"

She nods her head and they keep up their breakneck pace.

After a few hours of hard riding, they are both ready for a break. Morgana remarks that the horses are tiring, and it is Arthur who calls for a short rest in yet another meadow. They dismount and tie the reins to a nearby tree.

Arthur turns to Morgana to suggest that they find a stream when he hears a voice behind him saying, "Don't move. Who are you and what are you doing near King Cenred's borders?" He curses inwardly and tries to think up a good excuse. None come to him, and he is just about to turn around and start fighting when Morgana speaks.

"I'm so glad the border patrol is here," she simpers, " I was on my way to visiting my sister, but I got lost! And my escort here is an absolute dunce at everything. I thought I'd never find another person!" Arthur freezes from shock._ Morgana never simpers_. But then he realizes that it's a cover, and that she is acting. Feeling the men behind him relax, he slowly turns around to face them. Around five men, all mounted, surround him and Morgana. Sizing them up, he thinks he would be able to take them all out. When he surreptitiously reaches for his dagger, Morgana swats his hand away. He looks at her quizzically, and she shakes her head while still babbling on about their fictitious journey from a village.

The men point them in the direction of Cenred's castle and ride away to complete their circuit. Arthur gets ready to ride on, but Morgana starts off in the direction that they have just been given. He catches her reins as she rides past him.

"Where do you think you're going, Morgana? The isle of the Blessed is that way, if you remember," he quips.

She replies, "I'm doing what I said we were doing. I'm visiting my sister."

He drops her reins and frowns. "That's not what we're here to do. We don't have enough time."

Morgana raises an eyebrow. "Morgause would be able to help us. She'd give us supplies and better equip us to face this enemy."

"How would you know she would?" Arthur is skeptical.

"I'm her little sister. Of course she would," Morgana snaps, affronted.

"Listen, Morgana. I don't know how close you are to your sister, but that's no concern of mine. What is a concern is that this enemy has stated specifically for the two of us to go promptly. That means no visits and no tourist stops."

"And do we want to do exactly whatever this mysterious quest-giver says?"

Arthur ruffles his hair. "Yes, if that means we can stop the rampage of beasts. Let's go on, Morgana."

She huffs, "Fine, but if we run out of potions I'm blaming you."

* * *

><p>They head out at a canter, neither talking to each other. The hours stretch on as the monotony grows heavy. Arthur grits his teeth and bears it in silence. The grassy woodland turns to gravel, and just when Morgana is about to doze off on her horse, Arthur speaks.<p>

"For the love of Camelot, get down from that horse already. There's no point riding on if you can't even stay awake."

Morgana rubs her bleary eyes. "I can still,"-_yawn_- "keep on going. It's just getting dark is all."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "You're falling asleep on the horse. I'd rather not have to explain to your father that you cracked your skull because you rolled off the horse in your sleep."

She is too tired to argue. "Fine then. Let's set up camp."

Both are experienced woodsmen; While Arthur looks for firewood, Morgana casts the necessary wards and makes a rough hearth. She prepares the bread and cheese, which they are increasingly getting tired of, while Arthur starts the fire. The night is chilly, and both of them crouch around the fire to keep warm. Morgana only nibbles at her bread. Arthur notices.

"The fare doesn't agree with you, Morgana? I'm afraid there's no wine or pastries here."

She manages a half-hearted smile. " I wouldn't be so sure, Arthur." She reaches into her bags and brings out a wineskin. She shakes it at him. "What was that about no wine?"

He snatches it from her and takes a mouthful. It isn't quite yet bitter, but it is not too good either. In any case, it makes him feel pleasantly warm. "I've had better."

She takes it back and takes a gulp herself. "But it helps."

Arthur stares at the fire moodily. The shifting shadows dance on the space illuminated by the fire. Morgana is tracing patterns on the ground, knees drawn to her chest and head cradled on it.

He looks at her. "What do you think...we'll find when we get there?"

She doesn't raise her head. "I don't know what to think."

"Surely you must have some idea."

Morgana's voice is a little muffled. "There shouldn't be anything dangerous in the Isles of the Blessed. It forbids such things. Only the high priests and priestesses and those that they allow are allowed full entry. Even then, some don't make it across. Maybe our enemy is such a person, powerful enough to command the isle."

Arthur shakes his head. "I doubt it. High priests and priestesses haven't been seen for over ten years. And they shouldn't be hostile towards Cornwall at least."

Morgana sighs, "I can't help thinking there's something bigger going on than just a monster rampage commanded by one enemy."

He chuckles. "A king and a Crown Princess is on a quest to the Blessed Isles to stop a terrifying enemy. What could be bigger than that?"

She swats him with her hand. "You're impossible."

He smirks. "And you as well, my lady."

When the embers die down, both Morgana and Arthur settle into their bedrolls. Though Morgana falls into deep slumber almost immediately, Arthur tosses and turns for a long time, in no way helped by the feminine presence less than a meter from him. When he finally does fall asleep, his dreams are full of red lips and long hair and a harsh, cackling laughter that sends shivers up his spine.

* * *

><p>The next day, they head off at dawn once more. It is another hard day of riding, and neither of them want to rest, lest they be tempted to stay. When they finally stop, the slight breeze over the lake tugs at their hair. Over the drop of the hill they can see the endless horizon melding into the forest. They dismount and stand in silence, watching the serene waves lapping on the shore.<p>

Morgana sweeps her hair back again. "Well?"

Arthur replies, "I guess this is it." He idly fiddles with the knot on his shirt laces- he has decided that if he's going to cross the ocean on whatever is going to be waiting for him there, he would rather not do so wearing iron chainmail. They both look like peasants, Morgana with her braided hair and common clothes, and Arthur in a simple shirt and breeches as well. They have both refreshed themselves in a nearby stream an hour back, and so are both relatively clean. Morgana shivers a little.

"It's...colder than I thought."

Arthur looks over at her. "We'd better send the horses back. If you would?"

She pats the two steeds on the nose, and her eyes flash dim yellow. The horses snuffle, then turn and gallop back the way they came.

Morgana sighs. "I guess we need to go on?" She looks out into the ocean.

Arthur surprises himself saying, "No. We can stay a little longer." Morgana breaks out into a smile.

"A little longer here then."

He takes off his boots, rolls his breeches up, and wades in. Morgana's eyes widen. He looks at her.

"Well? You coming in?"

She hurries to do the same. "You know, Arthur, this is the best idea you've had in a while. I was beginning to lose all hope."

He smiles, then scoops some water up and splashes it at her. She splutters and shakes her head.

"You'll regret ever doing that." She whispers a word and an orb of water rises from lake and hurls itself at Arthur's head. He ducks.

Morgana laughs at the look on his face when the orb comes back and splashes the back of his head. His hand comes up to feel the water dripping off. Then he smiles and lunges at Morgana.

Before he can catch her, Morgana waves him away and splashes out of the water.

"If we're going to stay here, let's enjoy ourselves fully." She takes off her tunic and shakes out the knee-length shift that had been tucked into her breeches. Arthur can feel his face heating up as he tries not to stare. She raises an eyebrow.

"Be a gentleman and turn around, would you?"

He obliges, more to hide his reddening face than anything else. He can hear her taking off her breeches and then splash into the sea. He turns around.

Her hair is streaming around her, and her eyes are dancing. "Well? Aren't you coming in?"

He flushes again. "Fine." He strips to his underclothes quickly and wades in.

"For the love of Camelot, it's _cold_!"

She rolls his eyes and says, "Yes, Arthur. It's cold. Enjoy it while you can." She splashes him, laughing.

"I bet I'm better at swimming than you are," Arthur grins.

She replies, "You better prove it," and splashes him. He decides to forego swimming for showing her how superior he was at splashing. They go on for a while, until both are soaked to the bone. Arthur treads water while Morgana leans back and floats.

"I can die happy knowing I've swum one last time," She murmurs. He stares quizzically.

"Is it really that important?"

"Well, it was fun. Wasn't it?"

She laughs and swims out deeper into the lake; her white shift billows around her. Arthur is just about to follow her when he sees something dark surfacing near where she has gone.

"Morgana!"

She turns just in time to see the monstrous creature loom above her. She shrieks and tries to swim back. The creature snarls and whips one giant paw at her, sending her flying out of the water and landing heavily back in the shallows. Arthur curses, stumbling out and trying to reach his dagger. Morgana's eyes flash yellow, but it has no visible effect. As they both brace themselves for another onslaught, the monster does something completely unexpected- it sinks back into the depths from whence it came, until there is not even a shadow of it visible. They both sink down to the sandy shores, relieved. Morgana breathes heavily from the shock.

"I guess we better get started." Arthur is not willing to take any more chances.

She nods shakily. "I suppose we must." They dress silently, turning away from each other to give at least a semblance of privacy. When both of them are ready, they turn back and look towards the deceptively serene lake. There seems to be no way to reach the island past the mists.

After a full fifteen minutes of watching, Morgana quirks her head. "I assumed there would be some kind of boat-thing here to help us."

Arthur frowns, "Merlin said there was a boat that took him to the Isle. But apparently our quest-giver forgot to arrange transportation. Lovely."

They sit down and stare out at the lake for another fifteen minutes in silence. When the boredom gets unbearable, Morgana starts throwing pebbles into the lake. Arthur tries to stop her. "We don't want to wake that _thing_ again."

She sighs, tosses one last stone in, and gets up. "Maybe there's something we have to do? Perhaps a secret code." She taps her foot thoughtfully and looks hopefully at the empty waters. "Open sesame?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Nice going, Morgana. Of course it would be that. Perhaps we should just go back and build a boat."

She huffs in frustration. "I don't see you doing anything here."

He looks out again, then has an idea. "Morgana, give me any of your jewels. Something small."

She rummages in her bags and comes up with a small jeweled pin. "Will this do?"

He takes aim and tosses it into the waters. Morgana jumps up indignantly, but he shushes her and waits.

Just when Arthur's hopes are about to be deflated, Morgana points at the far end of the lake. A tiny dot grows bigger until it is in the shape of a rickety barge.

It reaches the shore and stills on the edge of the water.

They stare at it for a few minutes more, hardly breathing. When nothing jumps out and attempts to kill them, Morgana slinks toward it and look in. Arthur follows her.

She turns to him. "Do you think this is a trap?"

He replies, "I wouldn't know. There could be something waiting for us in the island; but isn't that what we came for?"

Morgana mutters something along the lines of, "I was talking about whether the boat's going to capsize and drown us both, but never mind." He ignores her and climbs in.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Do you even _know_ how to board, Arthur? We need to push the boat off." She straddles the side of the boat and kicks off from the ground, pushing the boat into deeper waters. There is no paddle on board, and she frowns. But as Arthur settles down and Morgana gets comfortable, the boat directs itself right into the mists, and Morgana says, "The boat must be enchanted. Wherever it's going, it's taking us right to where our little quest-giver wants us. " Arthur gives a grunt, alert and on the lookout for sea monsters.

They are soon at the middle of the lake, where the mists are thick and Arthur can barely see past his own nose. Morgana is a shadow in the fog and for some reason that terrifies him. He reaches out and grabs onto her shoulder. As they continue on, he keeps his hand there, making sure she's still with him.

Eventually they can see a dark shape coming closer into focus. The mists part, and Arthur hears Morgana's sharp intake of breath at the magnificence of the island. There seems to be an entire citadel there, abandoned in its eerie stateliness. Arthur peers at it in an effort to make out its features; he sees that one structure in particular is prominent- Morgana whispers, "The temple."

The barge comes to a jolting stop on the shore of the island. Arthur carefully steps off, followed by Morgana. They are close to this temple, and Arthur can see that the quest-giver has meant to guide them here. He looks at Morgana.

"Well?"

She squints. "It's probably a trap."

"And?" He motions for her to go on.

She smiles. "We'd better get on with it."

He grins and they stride towards the ruins together.


	13. Shadows from the Past

**A/N: Sorry about the month-long wait; Life's been hectic. If anyone's still reading the story, please review? It really makes my day. **

* * *

><p>The great ruin of the temple is hauntingly quiet. Arthur pulls out his sword and takes the lead, Morgana close behind. They've finally reached the stage that they don't attempt to duel every half hour over who gets to go first. The last colors of the sunset fade, and they no longer have any torches. To make it worse, a downpour suddenly starts beating on them from clear skies. Arthur groans as he leads them into a small space under a canopy made by two collapsed walls.<p>

"For the love of Camelot, is _everything_ in this place out to get us?

Morgana squints through the rain. "I can't see anything. We can't go on like this. Better wait till morning."

Arthur shakes his head. "We can't do that. There might be something out there, and it's better we find it than it find us."

"And what would be the difference, my lord? Either way, we're tripping over each other and I'm not about to waste magic on continuous light," Morgana asks.

Arthur grins. "You're forgetting something, my lady. I have _this_." He holds up his hand, the magic ring still on his finger. He rubs it with his other hand and the glow lights up the little crevice they took shelter in. Morgana taps it once. It responds by intensifying the light.

"I didn't think you'd wear it," she says, smiling softly. Arthur shrugs.

"It does come in handy."

"I should have made it an earring or a hairclip or put it on a helmet. You won't be able to use your left hand as much in fighting."

Arthur grimaces at the thought. "Not...hairclips. Or earrings. I think I'll manage just fine. Let's go, before the rain gets any worse."

They sprint out of the crevice further into the ruins. Deeper in, the roof is still intact and provides shelter from the storm. Morgana starts wringing her hair out. The water drips out in a steady trickle and forms a puddle on the floor.

After a while, they lose the tension they'd been harboring since they entered the temples. It seems to be utterly deserted, and nothing has attempted to attack them for a while. They both know they shouldn't be relaxing; but then, it's difficult to maintain focus when you've been walking for hours on end in dull monotony. Morgana stops to admire the carvings at one point, and Arthur can't help but secretly agree that even the _walls_ are more interesting than the endless walk.

At one point, Morgana points at a recurring symbol on the strange artwork adorning the walls. "Here, Arthur. Look."

He rolls his eyes, but does as she asks. He follows the curve of her arm to her elegant hand to the slender finger with his eyes, and his gaze lands on a very familiar insignia.

The Pendragon coat of arms.

It's not perfectly accurate, and there are details that deviate from the actual one that is in use- yet the similarity is very much there. And yet, the wall carvings seem far more ancient than even Camelot; which means this has existed before Arthur's forefathers even came to Camelot and took over. But that is not what sends chills down his spine.

Somebody has very recently altered it, so that a jagged line runs straight through the neck of the dragon. Foreign words are written under it in some sort of red liquid that looks suspiciously like blood. He looks at Morgana. With her hands still outstretched, she shrugs.

"Somebody must really hate the Pendragons."

There is not much he can say to that. They continue on in silence.

Time passes with a languid viscosity that dulls their awareness of potential traits. Though the temple itself is fascinating, there is not much to do. Arthur, being a man of action, starts fidgeting.

Morgana hisses, "Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he retorts.

"That!" And she snaps her hand at his fingers, which have been drumming rhythms into the leather of his scabbard.

He raises both hands in surrender, and lowers them with a sigh. "Maybe we should stop about now? Nothing seems to be happening."

She plops down. "You're right. Let's eat."

They spread out some bread and cheese on the cold marble floors. Arthur spreads his cloak out for both of them, and she sits close to him, sharing some of his body heat. He can feel her shivering through his chain mail. The raindrops still beat out an irregular rhythm on the roof of the temple.

Arthur hesitantly puts an arm around her shoulders. Her eyes widen, but she does not pull away. Instead, she snuggles closer. The cold steel of the chain mail must not be helping much with warding away the cold, yet her quivers lessen almost immediately. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he stiffens with the contact. It's then he realizes: she's not cold. She's scared.

"It's nice like this," she whispers. He looks at her. Her eyes are closed, and he would have thought she was asleep had she not spoken. He fiddles with a hunk of bread. A silence settles around them.

The rain beats more insistently on the roof, and he is just about to reach out and stroke her unbound hair when she suddenly snaps up, eyes alert.

Arthur immediately reaches for his sword. "What is it?"

Morgana shakes her head. His chain mail has imprinted designs on her cheek. "I don't know. This place... can you feel it?"

Arthur doesn't feel anything. He says, "Care to explain?"

Her brows wrinkle in thought. "It's...the aura. It's turned...savage."

He raises an eyebrow. He knows Morgana has the Sight, but it's always been a bit vague for him. And growing up under his father's utter hatred of all magic has not helped him in understanding. In some ways, he is still his father's son.

She sighs, "Never mind. It's nothing."

But it seems that it's not nothing, because she becomes twitchy and nervous. They finish the meal quickly, and set off just as swiftly. But they are much more cautious now. Morgana taps his ring again to intensify the light warding away the darkness, and she makes him shine it all around with every step. He would be annoyed, except he's on guard too.

They reach what seems to be the exit of the temple with the first tint of sunset. They have wandered around the seemingly small temple for the whole night, and only now have they managed to get anywhere. They cross the threshold together into the grassy field. Morgana turns back for a last glimpse. She screams, and the sound rings of terror. Arthur whirls around.

The temple- the temple. It's dyed an awful, crimson _red_ splattered on the floors and dripping from the ceilings and slowly oozing down the walls. It wasn't there, it couldn't have been there when they were in there, because they had touched those walls and sat on the floor and there was not that infernal _dripping_ sound that echoes through the temple now.

Catching their breath, they steel themselves and leave immediately.

There's a spring close by, and Arthur kneels to wash his face and ward off some of the sleepiness that overcomes him. Morgana is looking over the small hill, at the narrow beach that surrounds the island. He surreptitiously checks his reflection in the water- he _looks_ worn out. He sighs; this has not been an easy trip. Ruffling his hair once, he stoops to cup some water in his hands; he freezes and stares at the surface of the water. It couldn't be; it isn't- blood is spurting out of the stream, and he reels back. Morgana turns and walks over; he points at the darkening spring. She grits her teeth.

"Somebody doesn't want us here."

With the water unusable, they both decide that they need to rest. A whole night of wandering in the temple has left them exhausted. So as dawn sheds its early light on the island, Morgana casts a warding spell around a small tree on a gentle incline and settles down. It has stopped raining- thank goodness for that- and Arthur spreads his cloak on the grass for both of them again. He stretches out first, relieved to finally be off his feet. Morgana hesitates a little, a light blush adorning her cheeks, but she plops down next to him in the end. Her hair fans out on the red cloak as she curls up and closes her eyes. She falls asleep almost instantly, and her brows smooth in repose. When he hears her breathe in and out evenly, Arthur rolls over so he is facing her. Her face is close to his now; she is smiling a little, and the little tendrils of hair framing her face waft in the breeze. He flicks an ant off her neck, and brushes her hair away from her face idly, wondering if she was ever this relaxed when conscious. It's then he realizes: they're lying next to each other, curled up and almost snuggling. Granted, it was cold and sharing body warmth was advisable. But the intimate way they were positioned right now- it's almost as if they were man and wife.

Oh.

_Oh._

Suddenly Morgana's awkwardness makes a lot more sense. Still, the thought doesn't make him cringe, as it has done before. Marriage. Perhaps there was something to be said for it. He can imagine being married to Morgana; it gives him a warm feeling. Just watching her sleeping evokes a feeling of contentedness that he hadn't had for a while now. He falls asleep like that, and the last thought in his mind is that he wouldn't mind waking up with her by his side.

.

There is a crash, and a strange jolt that snaps him to consciousness. Arthur blearily opens his eyes and looks around. Morgana is shaking him awake; her voice is frantic.

"The outer ward's been breached. Something's coming."

Arthur blinks several times before getting up with sword in hand. They have slept only a few hours; it seems to be midday from the positioning of the sun. They see nothing. Tense, Morgana undoes the already crossed outer ward. Nothing.

And then- a shadow. A shadow that turns into a petrifyingly beautiful woman. Arthur can hear a sharp intake of breath as Morgana's eyes widen.

"Nimue?"

The woman-barefoot and clad in a bloodred gown that's _bad bad bad wasn't it some sort of tradition for evil sorceresses to wear red_- smiles and nods once. Morgana breaks out into a grin and takes a step towards her. Before she can release the inner ward, Arthur grabs her arm. He hisses, "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's my old tutor! The one who gave me the dagger and everything," Morgana exclaims excitedly. "She must be here to help us!" She shakes his hand off, and the woman Morgana calls Nimue raises an eyebrow.

"What sort of company are you keeping nowadays, Morgana? Is that Arthur Pendragon?"

Arthur steps forward, sword drawn. "You- did you set up this quest?"

Morgana huffs in annoyance, "Of course not! I tell you, she's an ally of Cornwall. She's taught me all I know about magic!"

"As she says, why would I do that? I just want to talk," Nimue smirks. Arthur scowls. Merlin has never mentioned exactly what happened with the Questing Beast incident, and all he knows is that something happened in the Isles of the Blessed. Well, here he is, and he cannot dislodge the small fragment of his mind that keeps whispering_ wrong wrong wrong don't let that woman near_. But he cannot voice a real objection as Morgana undoes the second ward.

Morgana and Nimue embrace each other as soon as the barrier drops. Nimue is almost motherly, tucking strands of Morgana's hair behind her ear and asking about people and things he has no knowledge of. Morgana is enthusiastic in her replies. Standing awkwardly to the side, he is rather annoyed; they are on a quest after all. After what he feels to be an eternity, they get down to the more pertinent questions.

Morgana asks, "Could you help us with this?" Arthur, having zoned out for a while assumes that Morgana has been chattering about their quest. Nimue gives an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Morgana." Morgana wrinkles her brow in confusion. "For what?"

Everything happens in an instant. Nimue grabs Morgana and pulls her to her side. She keeps her there as vines shoot out of the ground and tie Arthur up. His sword clangs as it falls to the ground.

"What the-," he shouts, but the vines creep up to gag him as well. Morgana is frozen and staring, Nimue's hand still gripping her like a vice. Nimue snaps her fingers and Arthur disappears.

Morgana whirls on Nimue."What- where is he?"

Arthur is still there, invisible, and he tries desperately to make a sound. The vines tighten around him until he finally gives up.

Nimue smiles sadly. "I really am sorry about this, Morgana."

Morgana's voice becomes stringent. " Nimue, I don't know what you're talking about. Where is he?"

The sorceress sighs, "I'll tell you, but let's sit down first. You need to calm down."

Morgana allows herself to be half-dragged along, her head whipping from side to side as she frantically searches for a glimpse of him. Arthur is levitated along helplessly.

Nimue leads them to an elegant stone structure, where tea has already been set up for two. With a surreptitious flick of her hand, Nimue dumps the still invisible Arthur in a corner. She sits Morgana down on a chair, and takes a seat herself.

Nimue takes a sip from her cup. "Try it, Morgana. You used to love this." Morgana woodenly brings the cup to her lips.

"It's good." Morgana suddenly seems to snap into the present. "Nimue, you have to help me. Do you know what it was? We need to find him!"

Nimue sighs again. "Morgana, you won't be able to find him again. I can't help you."

Morgana drops her cup on the table. "What? But- you're the high priestess! You- you can control this entire island!" She stands up. "I need to look for him. Who knows where he might be?"

Nimue's blue eyes flash. "Morgana, sit down." Morgana complies, sinking down into her seat again.

The sorceress smiles. "Very good. Now, Morgana, why did you come here?"

"On...on a quest. There's been….attacks...and...mysterious challenge," Morgana stammers.

Nimue nods. "Yes, Morgana. Have you wondered why?" Morgana shakes her head and Nimue continues.

"You might have noticed that the attacks were always on Camelot. No surprise, of course. Camelot has always been an enemy of magic. But why Cornwall? Why would they attack Cornwall, Morgana?"

Morgana thinks for a while. "Cornwall's never been attacked because- because it's accepted magic. It's always harbored them…" Nimue gestures for her to continue. "But we've started getting these attacks...after the second war. The second war…" Morgana's brow furrows in thought.

Nimue picks up where her thoughts left off. "When Cornwall decided to forge a treaty with Camelot, it was tantamount to declaring that Cornwall tolerates Camelot's stance on such issues. That it was going to forget the atrocities committed by Camelot. Many of us weren't happy about that, Morgana."

Morgana shakes her head. "But nothing happened when we first drafted the treaty!"

"You were poisoned, weren't you? And the assassin was never caught. Perhaps that too was a sign."

"But why the quest? Why now?"

The blue-eyed sorceress shrugs. "You must realize, that it is quite impossible for me to help. The Pendragons are my sworn enemies. And maybe now that its last scion is gone, Camelot's stain will be purged as well."

Morgana stares at her. "You mean to say that you _won't_ help? But if I return without him, there'll be war!"

In the corner, Arthur listens, spellbound. He already knows it's Nimue who has done this, yet Morgana still seems to think that Nimue is an ally. And Nimue herself seems to have no intentions of showing her true self.

The sorceress meets her gaze. "A war that Cornwall will win. Morgana, you are Crown Princess- you must learn to let go of attachments for the greater good. Imagine- Cornwall can unite Albion. We can create a world where no one will ever have to fear- a world of equality. Come, Morgana. You have already succeeded on your quest. Go home"

Morgana drops her gaze numbly- and then glares at her former teacher with a blinding ferocity.

"It's you. You're the one who sent the attacks."

Nimue stays silent, raising an eyebrow.

"We're already at peace- Camelot _accepts_ magic now. Can't you let Uther's wrongs be buried with him? Can't we all let go now and move on?"

Nimue exhales sharply. "After thousands dead, after pointless bloody wars on his behalf, after the _innocents_ branded as unnatural and _hunted down_- not even allowed to live like a human ,scrounging and always on the run- you want to let go? Morgana, you've seen what they've done. He's the same! He followed Uther's orders to slaughter women and children. We can never forget. We must avenge those that have fallen."

Morgana breathes, "So it's you. It is you."

Nimue tosses her hair back angrily. "It matters not. Morgana, open your eyes. Camelot has to pay." Her voice drops. "Once the stain of the Pendragons are erased, Albion- our dream, remember?-Albion can happen. No more nightmares. "

A tear rolls down Morgana's cheek. "I- I trusted you. I never thought- Nimue, what have you done with him?"

Nimue lets her hand fall on the table savagely. "You don't need to know. Morgana, you need to understand. I'm doing this for everyone's good. You know me, Morgana. I don't want more bloodshed. I've Seen it. It ends with him." She sighs, and her voice is soothing. "Oh, Morgana. I know how hard it is. I truly am sorry." Tears stream down Morgana's face, and Nimue reaches for her hand. She pats it comfortingly, but Morgana flinches away.

Nimue's face hardens. "You know yourself it needs to be so. Don't fool yourself, Morgana. You know your dalliances with him are distracting you from your duties. It's dancing upon your mother's grave. Uther Pendragon himself took care of her , didn't he? "

Morgana's breath catches, and she chokes out, "Why bring me here, then? Why couldn't you just lure him here alone and deal with him yourself?

Nimue's blue eyes are hard gems in the sun. She pauses, letting the rays of light pass over them before answering.

"Because I need you to kill him."

Morgana gapes. She tries to wipe away her tears, jumping up from her seat. "No. Never."

Nimue slams her hand on the table. "You must. It's for the good of all Albion. What's one life for thousands, Morgana? Duty comes first." She lets her hand slide off the table. "Duty always does."

Morgana's locks are damp with sweat and tears. "Why don't you kill him yourself?"

Nimue smiles patronizingly. "Oh, Morgana. You've forgotten everything I've taught you. Don't you remember? A high priestess has some power over life and death, but it's a channeling of the primal life force. I lose that power and my priestess' blessings if I use my magic directly for death or kill with my own hands. Much as I wish I could, I can't. This god-forsaken power that killed my sister forbids me to kill _him_. It is for his existence that we have been persecuted for so long. Him and that bastard Uther, rot in hell."

Nimue paces around, moved to anger as she talks. Her smile has transformed itself into a grimace, and her eyes flicker over to Arthur, still gagged and invisible.

"He may be Avalon's fated king, but that doesn't matter. Avalon can survive without her king, and why indulge when her queen can fulfill the destiny just as well as he?"

"What?"

"Morgana, don't you remember the prophecies? You never did pay attention. That's the only reason that traitor Emrys so doggedly protects him. But _you_ can be greater. " She stands up. "I would wish that this burden does not fall upon you. You're like a daughter to me, you and your sister, and I don't like forcing your hand to bloodshed. One stroke, and it'll be all over." Nimue faces her. "I'm sorry."

Morgana hangs her head, and Nimue squeezes her shoulder. "It's not easy to ask this of you. Nor is it fair. If there was another way-" Morgana slowly straightens up. She shudders once.

"I understand."

Nimue's eyes are bright. "You'll do it?"

Morgana clenches her teeth and meets her gaze. Nimue's face holds genuine regret as well as unbridled relief. And hidden, glee at finally being able to end it once and for all. She wipes away Morgana's tears.

"Thank you."

Arthur struggles again in vain to escape, his thoughts in a whirl- _no not morgana she can't be no no no_-but the vines force him up to his feet. Nimue guides Morgana out into the open field, waving her arms once to drag Arthur out with her. One snap of her fingers and he is suddenly visible, still tied up and gagged. Morgana meets his gaze with a shuttered intensity, then turns to Nimue.

"No. Not like this."

Nimue opens her mouth in protest, but Morgana cuts her off. "I'm not striking down a helpless man. Nimue, I'll face him in a fair duel, or not at all. Not like this."

The older woman bites her lips in indecision, but nods once and waves her hand again. The vines whip off and sink into the ground. Nimue conjures up a sword and throws it at his feet. He stoops to pick it up, wincing at the bruises that the vines have left.

Morgana stands impassively, watching him. Arthur reaches out to her.

"Morgana…"

She averts her gaze. "I'm sorry." A sword finds its way into her hand, and she swings it into the ready position.

"I'm sorry."

.

The sun passes its zenith and casts its glare upon the three in the grassy field.


	14. Are Vanquished by the Present

_She averts her gaze. "I'm sorry." A sword finds its way into her hand, and she swings it into the ready position._

_"I'm sorry."_

.

_The sun passes its zenith and casts its glare upon the three in the grassy field. _

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><p>Arthur stands, hands slack yet body tensed.<p>

"Morgana…" he whispers limply.

A flicker of emotion, and she is gone. Her face is a mask, and chills run down his back as he realizes that Morgana is gone, just like the last war. She's not here anymore. He knows- too well- that Morgana will dispose of all personal attachments to do what she thinks is her duty. _Maybe he doesn't mean enough to her in the first place for it to be difficult for her to do…_

She swings her sword again, and he barely has enough time to put his guard up before she is there, striking at his heart. He stumbles away from her and knocks the blade away; she hardly flinches before snapping her sword into a crescent moon drill. S_wing overcomes inferior strength; can't dodge too wide-_reverse. He can't attack her and her laughter and the white shift that billows around her as she leans back in the water and spins...but she can. She's not here, she's not here, she's not here- his sword parries the attacks that rain down on him. A drill, this is a drill, one of the endless spars she insists on _if only I could disarm her before she does anything_. Dodge left, swing back, force her off her feet- and there's an opening but he doesn't take it, _it's got to be a trap she never leaves a gap like that accidentally_- first blood is hers. Her sword nicks him as it slides down the chain mail, and he knocks it away.

They break away and circle in the clearing. He hardly has time to take a breath before she lunges and comes into close quarters, viciously aiming for the throat with barely controlled strikes that are so unlike her it is easier to imagine it isn't her. Her sword hammers brutal blows at him that he is nearly caught off guard by. And she's favoring her left _which is strange_ but striking at his right and he can barely avoid the blow- he leans back and the sword tip barely misses his chin. His cheeks puff in concentration as he convinces himself one last time that _it isn't her_- and he begins.

It's a struggle for dominance- it's always like that, for them. But this has turned into more than a game, it's a struggle for life on his part and he needs to start winning. He realizes that he has no choice- he needs to take her down. He moves his feet in position to begin the offensive. Lunge, dodge, parry, turn. The swords flash, and true to her word Nimue does nothing to interfere. She is but a blur of red as his vision erases everything that isn't her and her sword. A breath, and finally she is a nameless enemy_. Good._

Time does not pass; they are more than evenly matched, and both of them know each other too well. It falls into a rhythm, and this too is good; her agility has always matched his strength, but her agility will fail in time. His strength will outlast her. His body remembers all of their early morning mock duels, how she would strive to end it quickly with a well-aimed blow or some clever trick, and how more often than not she would be the first to tire. The nameless woman will fail; he is sure of it. And he sees it. It's the left again. She's leaving a huge gap and it has to be deliberate so he spins away and knocks at her right. Her sword readily locks with his; the sunlight glints off and shines in his eyes, and he curses and breaks the connection. Blinking rapidly, he circles again, and seizing the chance he knocks at her left leg, but she jumps away and there's the crescent moon yet again and that stupid flaw in her defense that shouldn't be there but is and it _has to be a trap_ but he can't let it go anymore. He lightly raps her sword to disrupt it and _she's spinning to the right again why is her left so open_ so he lunges and brings his sword swiftly down at her.

There is no trap. The sword follows through its own momentum and suddenly the woman is Morgana again, but before he can turn his sword to the side, it bites into her skin with a sickening plunge. Blood spurts out- stains _everywhere_- the dark stain in her side is growing, but she doesn't show any signs of pain. He yanks the sword out and it drops from his nerveless fingers into the grass. And Nimue is there, horrified and running towards Morgana, who is slowly sinking to her knees. He stumbles away, and Nimue reaches out a hand to Morgana and there'll be hell to pay as her eyes are starting to flash-

Morgana's arm suddenly lashes out with a flash and suddenly Nimue freezes, a sword embedded between her ribcage. The same dark stain spreads through her red dress. Her blue eyes wide with shock, Nimue crumples. Morgana rights herself and crawls over to her. There are tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry Nimue…" she mutters as she clutches at Nimue's hand. "I'm so, so sorry-"

Nimue gasps a little, the pain seemingly getting past her inscrutable face. She seems unable to speak, either reeling from the betrayal or from the fatal wound. Morgana tries to make her more comfortable. The sword stays in the ribcage. Morgana herself is bleeding out, but she takes no notice.

"I- I'm so sorry, Nimue...This is the only way… I'm sorry," Morgana continues to stammer, body wracked with sobs. The sorceress looks almost resigned to her fate, but she turns her face away from Morgana. Arthur watches helplessly.

Morgana remains holding her hand as if it is a lifeline, as Nimue's face pales and contorts in a grimace. "But we'll be alright, Nimue- We'll both reach Avalon, you told me so yourself- we'll both be at Avalon and I'll find a way to make this up to you. We'll be alright, and I'll find a way-I'm here, and I'll find a way to win your forgiveness. I-I…" She rocks back and forth, nearly collapsing, but catching herself in time. Nimue is not dead yet, but now anyone can see that she is in immense pain. Morgana desperately meets Arthur's reluctant gaze. _Please. _He can see the unspoken plea in her eyes. He slowly bends down and picks up the sword still stained with _her _blood.

Morgana seems to be tearing herself apart from the inside as she murmurs to the dying high priestess. When Arthur's shadow falls across them, Morgana looks up, her tears glittering in the sun. He looks away, to Nimue's face . Her cool blue eyes are as defiant as ever, but she manages a nod- this last mercy from her enemy she will tolerate. Her eyes soften as she looks at Morgana for the last time- betrayal means nothing now, and she has served her purpose. Morgana senses this and cries harder. Through her tears she chokes out, "You were a mother to me, Nimue. I love you- and I won't forget you. I-I'm sorry." Nimue closes her eyes, and Arthur prepares himself.

He plunges the sword into the sorceress's heart. A mercy stroke. The blood sprays both Morgana's and Arthur's faces. Nimue exhales one last time, then she is no more.

Arthur withdraws his sword and drops it again. He kneels by Morgana and watches as the body of the high priestess disintegrates into gold dust, slowly rising to meet the sun. Morgana's sword drops to the ground.

Morgana whispers, "Good bye, Nimue." She bows her head, and after a hesitant pause he does the same. They remain that way until the last of the sparkling motes have disappeared.

Morgana is the first to break the silence. She turns her ferocious glare at Arthur, growling, "She was a good woman, do you understand? She had her reasons. Don't you dare blame her."

He doesn't know what to say to that. Nimue is- _was _-his enemy and nothing less, nothing more. There is no love lost between them, and he is actually relieved that she is finally gone for good; but Morgana is devastated and suddenly it matters a whole lot more. He pulls her to her feet, and she stumbles into him. Automatically, his arms wrap around her to steady her; but she buries her face in her shoulder and he can feel the tears seeping into his shirt. He tries to comfort her as best he can- he isn't good at this, but he's all she has right now. He embraces her tightly and pats her on the back- his hands brush against her waist and suddenly his hand comes into contact with a viscous liquid. Blood. _No._

Arthur pulls away from her- forces her to sit down so he can inspect her wound. It's bad. It's jagged and wide and all his fault. Morgana brings her hand to her forehead- her face is quizzical as she says that she feels lightheaded. His stomach sinks as he realizes that _she's been bleeding out this whole time and It's his fault his fault his fault_. Ignoring Morgana's little cry of protest, he yanks her tunic up- he cleans the wound as best he can with his shirt before deciding that it is not enough. Arthur gently pushes her down and makes her lie back, fervently hoping that it isn't too late. He rushes over to where they had left their supplies- it's not that far off- and brings out his spare shirt. Unhesitating, he rips it into strips of cloth and wets one with the water skin. She inhales as he brings it over to her and gentle cleans her bare skin- she screws her eyes shut and hisses in pain as he presses a little to try to stem the blood. After the wound has been sufficiently cleaned so it doesn't look like she's bleeding to her death, he gently sits her up again and wraps the makeshift bandages around the ghastly wound. When he finds the courage to look at her face, he sees that she is pale- almost as pale as Nimue was- and that her lips are pressed tightly together in an effort to stop herself from groaning. When he drops his hands, she opens her eyes and tries for a smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace than anything else. His mind is numb; he can't think of anything right now. His brain seems to have shut down all but the most basic functions as a self-defense mechanism- it's perfectly acceptable to him; his brain will explode if it didn't. He goes over to the now friendly spring and fills the water skin for Morgana to have a drink. She does so reluctantly, with much coaxing from Arthur, and the color does not surge back into her cheeks even when she has drunk her fill. The bandage seems to hold, and it'll have to do until they both get out of the island.

He looks down at Morgana again. She's lost blood, but he's thinking-hoping- that she has a chance, if they manage to reach Camelot fast enough. They can't travel by foot. Cornwall is farther away- the only magicians that dare to reside in Camelot are Merlin and Gaius, but they'll have to do. He can beg Cornwall to send healers, but please _please _let him be able to reach Camelot in time. He breathes in, _this is a field operation_ and out, _he has to remain in control to fulfill the mission_, and in, he needs to make sure she doesn't die from that wound- _it's all his fault._ It's his hand that stabbed her and it's him who erased her to make an enemy out of her when all along she's been trying to _help_. And he had convinced himself that she meant nothing to him and he had _meant it when he stabbed her_. It scares him, and there's an insidious whisper repeating "_you wanted her to die, just like you killed your own mother. You hurt everyone who tries to help you._ _And you still think you deserve to be by her side? You'll only destroy her."_ He bites his lip savagely and tries to banish that particular thought, with little success. He is rescued from the flood of guilt that threatens to drown him by Morgana's small whimper.

He kneels at her side. "Morgana?"

She trembles a little. The blood loss has made her pale, but the sword has miraculously dodged all major organs; if she can get through the night, she has a chance. She whispers, "Arthur?" and he nods in affirmation.

"What's...happening? I...Nimue?" Her voice quivers, and the look in her eyes is that of a lost child. "Where am I?"

Arthur furrows his brows; this is bad. Confusion, along with pale and cool skin, are symptoms of excessive blood loss; he remembers what the moorish field medic-Pekiwi- had told him when he was on his first raid.

_There are around three stages of blood loss that you need to know; the first is when the soldier becomes confused, grows pale, and has a slower pulse. They'll live, but they need medical attention. The second is when the heart starts beating faster, hallucinations occur, and they might go into shock. These soldiers may not survive. If it worsens, the third stage is reached and death is usually inevitable. _

The first stage, then. Think clearly, don't let her go to sleep. Try to find a way out. Morgana tugs on his sleeve weakly. "Arthur?"

He nods. "You'll be alright. Nimue…" Nimue. The quest-giver, the mentor, the enemy. And Morgana had given her up. He breathes in an effort to keep his voice steady. "Morgana. I need you to explain. What were you _thinking_?" His voice rises unintentionally as he speaks; frustration and anger bubbles up. He knows that she's confused and weak right now, but he can't let this go. "What did you think you were _doing_?"

Apparently, arguing with her seems to be the right idea, because some life surges into her. She gets up on her elbows and meets his eyes, glaring. "What was I doing? I was saving your _sorry life _and betraying the _woman who raised me since my mother's death._" The fire goes out of her, and she whispers, "I killed her."

He can't let her dwell on that. "I thought….you were going to kill me."

She looks up again, raising herself up to a sitting position with a little wince. Her eyes are blazing. "Did you think- did you really think that I'd jeopardize everything _we've_ worked for? Does your trust in me amount to that little? Let me assure you, _my lord_, that if I had wished to kill you, I would have done it while you were still bound. It wouldn't be the first time I've killed like that."

"Then what were you doing? You're not telling me you _planned _for me to stab you?" Arthur is frustrated. He has just seen her try to kill him, only to change her mind at the last minute and kill Nimue. He doesn't know what to think.

"What _else_ was I supposed to do? You were bound, Nimue would have found a way to kill you somehow, and I couldn't do anything. Nimue's powers are-_were_- far greater than ours; and there was no other way to incapacitate her."

Arthur quietly asks, "So you meant for me to stab you. What exactly were you planning to do?"

She sighs and drops her voice. "Nimue had to die. She would have turned all Albion into a battlefield to make magic the dominant force. She trusted me- too much. I knew she'd heal me if you managed to wound me. And she'd be too preoccupied to see any attacks. So-," she looks down at her hands, "I made you stab me. I knew you would fight back in the end, and…"She chuckles mirthlessly. "In the end, Camelot is worth more to you than I ever will be. And it worked. I killed the woman who gave me my first horse, who taught me how to protect myself, how to wield the sword that killed her. I'm a thankless murderer." She drops her gaze. "I don't deserve to live."

Arthur places a hand on her jaw and forces her to look up. "No."

She snorts at that, but he forges on. "You did what you have to do. And it's over now. We've succeeded in our quest…." he trails off uncertainly. This isn't working. The frustration bubbles up again_. So she was the one feeling guilty, was she?_

"And what do you think I feel? I stabbed you, I'm the reason you nearly _died_. And it's solely _my fault_. You had a plan in motion, and I just thought you wanted to kill me. I'm the thankless murderer." The loudness of his voice startles her. He leans forward.

"I stabbed you. And I did it of my own free will. And now you're like _this_, and I can't let you die." His voice drops again. "I'd never be able to live with myself."

She reaches towards him, but then overstrains herself and grimaces in pain. Immediately, he forces her to lie down again, ignoring her protests. He sighs. "Let's let this go for now. Right now, we need to get out of here and back to Camelot." He looks down at her. "You won't be able to walk in that condition- and we let the horses go." He swears, then suddenly stops. "Morgana...can you heal?"

She bites her lip. "Yes...and no. I can't-" she gestures at her wound, "not this. Not here. I'd end up killing myself or blowing something up."

Arthur sighs, and pulls at the grass. "It was just a thought."

Knocking aside Arthur's restraining arm, Morgana sits back up. "You could check where she used to live. I'd be able to tell if there's anything useful. We could use her supplies...she would have wanted them to be used."

Arthur nods and jogs to the stone building. There is a door that leads to another room, and that seems to be where Nimue spent her days. The dwelling is beautifully decorated, but the furniture is simple. Arthur finds a scroll of parchment as well as a pack of food; nothing more. He scoops both up and returns to Morgana.

She quirks her head, and he shakes his. "Nothing much." She unrolls the parchment. "And this…" Her eyes scan the first part, and then she snaps it shut abruptly. "It's her private business. Nothing of use." He takes it and puts it in their packs, anyways. She looks like she wants to stop him, but she stays put. Arthur watches her wordlessly; her eyes are unfocused and her face betrays the pain she is in. But she doesn't tell him. And he doesn't ask.

_"In the end, Camelot is worth more to you than I ever will be."_

Her words repeat endlessly in his head. It's true, though...isn't it? Of course it is. Camelot's worth more than to him than his own life. But for some reason, he wants to refute it, to tell her it's not true, that he'd choose her...but that's nonsense. Things got so confusing around Morgana.

He looks at her again. She's closed her eyes and seemingly in a light slumber, so he leans closer. He's just about to brush a strand of hair from her face when her eyes snap open and she flinches. He drops his hand and stutters something about an insect. She seems to believe him, but he can't help noticing the striking fear that was in her eyes when she saw him about to touch her. He turns away from her.

"We need to get out of here. Can you walk?" His voice is more abrupt than he intended.

"Ye-" She stops to think. "I'm… not sure."

"Let's see if you can." He turns back and watches as she struggles to her feet, wincing. He wants to help her up, but he doesn't think she would accept it. Instead, he clears his throat.

"We'll take the raft to the mainland," He blurts, more to break the silence than to actually inform her. She stares at him with an expression that has, "I figured, thank you very much" written all over it. He adds on, "But after that, it will be more difficult. We'll probably have to find horses…"He trails off. He knows very well that horses are difficult to find in any village. And the island is far away from any villages. Morgana's voice cuts into his thoughts.

"I can contact Merlin. He can bring them." She is swaying a little, and slowly she crumbles to her knees. "It might take a while for him to come."

Arthur frowns. "Are you sure you should be using magic at all?"

She sighs, "It's only small magic. Merlin's too powerful for it to be anything but easy."

He would like to argue that he could find another way, that she's already done enough, that he wants her to _rest_ and for him to be useful for once. But his practical side overrules his wishes and he nods.

.

After she has successfully reached Merlin and arranged for them to be picked off, she slumps down on the ground. Arthur looks sidelong at her; the strain seems to have been too great and she is barely conscious. He forces her to drink more water and she drops off almost immediately afterwards. He takes first watch. And the second. He doesn't mind. He knows that sleep is the only anesthetic available to her now. It will take Merlin at least a day to come, and the island no longer seems hostile with Nimue gone. With not much to do, he starts whittling at a little block of wood, checking on Morgana once in a while. She does not wake, even as night falls. When the chill descends on the island, Morgana starts shivering. Her already light complexion makes her look positively bloodless. A sudden fear stabs through Arthur's mind, and he gently shakes her awake.

"Morgana."

She looks up groggily. "Hm?"

"Bandages. The wound might be infected and we need to change them." His businesslike tone disintegrates as he stammers, "And you need to lift your tunic."

Her cheeks flush violently, but she nods. She struggles up, and when Arthur has made more bandages out of the remains of the shirt, she edges the tunic up. He tries not to stare. The wound- think about the wound. She needs medical treatment.

He slowly unwraps the makeshift bandages applied earlier that day. It is caked with dry blood and dirty. The wound is not so deep that it is life-threatening, but it is no scratch. He washes out the wound with water from their wineskin; she grits her teeth to choke the scream that forces its way out of her throat. Hastily muttering apologies, he dries her pale skin with the bandages. Arthur finishes quickly and steadily works to wrap the new bandage around her waist.

When he has tied a neat knot to keep it in place, he looks up to see Morgana looking directly at him with an intense gaze. Meeting it squarely, he takes her hand, still holding the tunic up, and gently eases them down. The rough calluses of his fingers scratch against her soft skin. He moves so that he is sitting right next to her. She closes her eyes, and hesitantly leans against him again, shivering all the while. He holds her tightly, willing her to _just hang in there a little longer_.

.

When Merlin arrives on the island in the morning towing two horses _that really shouldn't have been able to have fit in the raft but Merlin managed to anyways_, he finds them sleeping, still huddled and leaning on each other. A grin slowly widens on his face, and he calls out, "Enjoying yourselves?"

The effect is immediate. Arthur and Morgana burst into consciousness, realizing the compromising nature of their position and jumping apart. Merlin gives Arthur a mouthful about ladies and acceptable behavior- he knows Merlin speaks in jest, but he's still going to order the manservant to clean out the stables for this- but he abruptly stops when he sees Morgana wincing from moving so quickly away from Arthur.

"You're hurt. Why didn't you tell me when you asked me to come?" Merlin's voice is concerned, but Morgana shrugs it off.

"I didn't want you worrying."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "And of course finding you hurt in the middle of nowhere cuddling with his royal pratness isn't going to make me worry." He turns serious. "I'd have come sooner if you had told."

Arthur gets up and helps Morgana to her feet. "Let's get going. Morgana, you're riding with me."

Merlin somehow expands and stabilizes the raft so that the two horses can cross the ocean along with the three humans. The ride is made expedient by Merlin basically blasting every obstacle away. Arthur had told Merlin privately how imperative it was for them to reach Camelot quickly and explained the gravity of Morgana's injury, while said woman was using the latrines. They made almost impossibly good time, and soon the walls of Camelot are visible from afar.

Morgana smiles in relief. "Finally, we're back."

"It's still standing. And there haven't been any attacks. Whoever that quest-giver was, he kept his promise," Merlin explains. Morgana stiffens. Arthur turns to Merlin.

"It was a she. Nimue. High Priestess."

Merlin gapes at this revelation. "But...she's...lightning...dead….what?"

Arthur looks to the heavens for patience. "Talk when you can form coherent sentences, Merlin."

Merlin takes several breaths to compose himself. "But High Priestess was killed on the Isle of the Blessed years back during the Questing Beast incident."

That reminds him. "Speaking of which, Merlin, you've been keeping secrets from me. You need to tell me what exactly happened then." Merlin nods. They go through the gates together, where the inhabitants of Camelot have gathered to welcome their King back. As they pass the cheering throng, nodding and waving as if their triumph has been an easy one, Arthur whispers to Morgana, "would you be all right with staying in Camelot? I thought it would be more convenient, as it was closer."

She nods, a smile still in place for the peasants. "Thank you."

They reach the citadel itself, and as they dismount Arthur can hear Morgana whimper in pain. Before she can protest, he sweeps her off her feet and carries her through the courtyard and the great hall, her punching him all the while. He finally lowers her down at the infirmary; Morgana sighs and thanks him in the end. Gaius follows Merlin in, and the old man briefly nods at Arthur before he starts asking Morgana questions about her injury.

Morgana's voice is quiet as she answers. "Yes. A sword wound."

Gaius comments, "He must have been aiming to kill. It's sheer luck that this wound isn't fatal. Just a little to the left and-"

Arthur walks out, slamming the door. As he leaves, he can hear Morgana saying that answering questions is tiring her and that she would appreciate some rest. Merlin, who has followed him out, catches up to him.

"Arthur, what-"

Arthur snaps, "Not now." Merlin looks indignant, but complies. He stops and lets Arthur walk away alone, turning back to the infirmary. Arthur continues walking away- he has more to do than standing idly by the sickbed.

After all, he is the king and there are better things to do.

.

At night, when Gaius is asleep and the castle is silent, he makes his way to the infirmary and sits by her bedside, keeping vigil when nobody can see.

* * *

><p><strong>This marks the end of the first story arc; The next chapter will go off on another tangent to the point of no return. About Nimue, I was wary of using her as the villian mastermind; I mean, she's already done that. But then I realized, the BBC Merlin (while I do love the first season to bits) treats her like a stereotypical villain. Sure, she has the motive, but some of her schemes really get farfetched and requires explanation. Why doesn't she just blast Uther off the face of the planet? If she can sneak into the castle like she did in Excalibur, why not just do it herself? So this was my attempt at explaining why Nimue doesn't do it. And we never did get to see her body. She could easily have blocked the lightning or transported herself out (Excaliber again) or whatever. So it's not too much of a stretch to keep her alive. But now she's most definitely dead. So it ends the same anyways. By the way, the reason Nimue couldn't heal herself is because it hit her lungs. Lungs are kind of really complex and hard to heal; and it was a fatal shot anyways. Kind of hard to concentrate on healing yourself when you're already half-dead.<strong>

**And to the many humorous reviewers commenting on Morgana killing Arthur being a possible damper on the relationship: Yes, yes it was. Pretending to have decided to kill your destined lover does tend to do that. Although it kind of reverses in the end, because the destined love decides to kill her instead of being killed and then he feels awful about it, so now everything's a big mess. Which is kind of the way I like it. **

**I apologize for the huge author's note. But hey! my first arc is over! I kinda wanted to celebrate :)**

**Please review!**


	15. Hope for Dawn

Morgana is installed in the chambers she occupied during her previous stay; despite her protests, Arthur has not allowed her to walk the distance from the infirmary, picking her up bodily and carrying her all the way. It seems that even dire wounds cannot stop her from inflicting injury- he has the bruises to prove it.

"I can walk, Arthur, there's no need to baby me!"

"You heard Gaius- you shouldn't exert yourself."

"And riding for a day and a half back to Camelot wasn't exerting myself? I'll be fine."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not letting you down." Ignoring her shrieks, he had continued down the corridor nonchalantly.

The servants had whispered for days after they had seen the strange sight. He didn't really care.

After that, though, he hadn't seen her in a while. Not awake. He is the king, after all. He has duties to attend to. At least that's how he justifies it. But every night, he is pulled to her bedside, to sit and watch her breathe, to convince himself that she's still alive and _there_ with him. Wryly, he realizes that this is becoming much too common an occurrence- first the poisoning incident at the banquet and now this, she really needs to take care of herself more. Looking at her slightly quivering form, he thinks that maybe there's something wrong with him too, because normal people don't usually sneak into other people's chambers and just _watch _them sleep, after all. But all that matters is that he knows she's alive, and since nobody is there to see, there's no harm in it. Morgana shivers in her sleep, and he bends over her to tuck the blankets closer around her. As another dawn approaches, he takes silent leave of her chambers, to pretend to Merlin that he was sleeping. Nobody has to know.

.

"Sire, If I may have a word." Arthur looks up from the table with a start. Gaius has entered his chambers silently, and from his face, it seems to be serious. Immediately, he thinks of Morgana, and that irrational fear rises up again. The curtained room suddenly feels stifling. "Is the Princess Morgana all right?"

The older man bows slightly. "I mean to talk of her condition. If I may…"

Arthur nods, and they both take a seat around the small table. Gaius takes a breath before starting.

"Sire, the wound itself is healing quite well. The princess's condition has stabilized, and the wound has started closing. However…" Arthur motions for him to continue. Gaius leans towards Arthur.

"Sire, for the sake of Camelot, I think it is best if you sent her to Cornwall now."

That was not what he had been expecting. He frowns. "What do you mean, for the sake of Camelot? She has done no harm."

Gaius meets his eyes steadily. "But if she dies on Camelot soil, Cornwall will be out for our blood. King Gorlois dotes on her highness, and there is no telling what grief might make a man do."

Arthur feels as if somebody has suddenly poured ice water over his head. Numbly, he brings his hand up and lets it fall. "Dies on Camelot soil?" He mutters. He stares at Gaius unflinchingly. "And why would you think she will die on Camelot soil? You yourself said she is stabilizing well."

Gaius's face is stony. "Her wound is stabilizing. But I'm afraid it's already too late."

"Princess Morgana's blood is already poisoned by infection. There is very little chance of her surviving to see next spring."

.

Gaius excuses himself soon after, leaving Arthur sitting at the table numbly.

_She will not survive to see next spring. _

_Not survive._

_His fault._

Blood poisoning- he should have realized sooner, tried to do something, should have known that a half-attempt at warding off infection was no attempt at all. The infection is within her blood, and it's not something he can fight. His fault.

Merlin sticks his head in his chambers, before edging in warily. He begins, "Arthur, I heard Morgana-"

He never gets a chance to finish. Arthur snaps up and storms out. Merlin looks, sighs, and follows.

Arthur charges up the stairs leading to her chambers in a blind rage, disregarding the various servants and nobles he pushes past. Distantly, he notices Merlin following him, but that doesn't matter to him right now. He reaches the now- familiar doors and bursts through it.

For the first time in a long while, Morgana is standing and looking out the window. Her white shift flutters at the disturbance of the air that the door has created, and she turns at the resulting bang. Arthur stands at the doorway, heaving from sprinting all the way. She lowers her eyes. Her voice is no more than a low whisper.

"So you know?"

Arthur fights for breath. It's not just the running that leaves him gasping; it's the truth that in less than 6 months she'll be dead and gone and he'll _never ever see her again_. He nods mutely.

Her face twitches; there is not much she can say. Her eyes are wide with unshed tears. Arthur closes the door and steps into the room silently. There has to be a way….

Morgana's voice interrupts him. "I would like to return to Cornwall, your majesty." _No longer Arthur. Less painful to cut the connection of whatever we have while she can do it in person._ But he's too selfish to let her go.

He finds his voice. "No. Morgana…"

Morgana turns away again. "If you would be willing to make preparations for me, I would be grateful. If it pleases your majesty, I intend to leave on the morrow."

He takes a few steps towards her. She shrinks away a little, her trembling increasing. In consternation, he realizes that she has a fever. He continues towards her until he is standing right in front of her.

She backs away a step, but the windowsill prevents her from retreating further. Morgana takes a breath and says in a wavering voice, "I am grateful for the kindnesses you have shown me. I will ensure that Cornwall will remain on friendly terms with Camelot; you have no need to fear. But I would like to see my father and my home one last time…"

He tucks a hand under her chin and tilts it up so she is facing him. He whispers softly, "Don't go, Morgana."

Her voice breaks. "I...want to go home...Arthur, please let me go home…"

He leans down and softly presses his lips to hers. It is a chaste kiss and he can see her eyes widening. His other hand finds its way to her waist, and he holds her delicately, as if she is a fragile thing that will break. He tries to tell her what he cannot with words-_Idon'twantyoutogo pleasestay Ineedyouhere_-but there is only so much a kiss can express. Her lips are slightly chapped- too warm with fever- but they are sweet and Arthur does not want to let her go, because he _needs _her near. But he does. He slowly breaks contact and straightens up. Morgana is still frozen in place, a hand fluttering to her lips. Speechless, her eyes meet Arthur's gaze.

Arthur realizes that he has just turned both of their lives upside down with that single move. He stutters for a bit before muttering, "If it is truly what you want, you may go." Morgana stares at him, still struck dumb, and he flushes pink before rushing out of her chambers. He doesn't see the tears that roll down her cheeks.

He runs until he reaches the safety of his own chambers, before sinking down into a chair and putting his head into his hands. _Idiot idiot idiot what were you thinking what did you do idiot…_ He lifts himself up when Merlin shuffles in again. _Merlin-Sorcerer-Magic-_ Help.

"Merlin!" His voice comes out more savage than he intends.

Merlin halts, flinching. He slowly- too slowly- turns to face Arthur. "Yes, Arthur?"

"You have magic." Merlin gives him a look that seems to say, "thank you, we've established that fact." Funny how a couple years ago he would have panicked at those very same words.

Arthur disregards Merlin's reaction to the very obvious statement, forging on. "I don't care what you have to do, but we need to find a way to heal Morgana." Merlin's face falls.

"So answer me now, Merlin, is it possible for you to do it with magic?"

Merlin stutters, "I...I can't. You know I can't. Only the priestesses can heal non-magic wounds."

Arthur frowns. "What do you mean, you can't? You broke that Afanc plague back when my father was alive."

"But that was magic. I can break magics. But healing is something else entirely. Only high priestesses…"

Arthur groans in frustration. Of course they had to go off and kill the only high priestess they know. Merlin ventures, "Maybe Cornwall has some healers…"

"So you agree with Gaius. You want her sent back to Cornwall." Arthur's voice is impassive.

Merlin nods. "Cornwall is better equipped, and Morgana wants to go."

Arthur suddenly deflates. His voice is quiet. "Merlin, tell me the truth. Is it possible for non-priestesses to treat diseases like blood poisoning?"  
>Merlin cannot lie to his friend. "I….no. No."<p>

"Then do you know of anyone who might be able to show us how to?" Arthur's voice is almost scarily calm.

"Um…" The crystal caves suddenly flashes into Merlin's mind. Granted, it is more a cave of visions, but at least it's a start. Taelisin had said that it was the beginnings of magic- perhaps it would tell him something. Merlin makes his choice.

"Yes. But I need to go alone."

* * *

><p><em>Crows circle overhead as the setting sun dyes the sky in bloodred hues. The battleground is desolate; it reeks of decaying flesh and fear, and fallen standards litter the floor. At least it covers some of the carnage. The corpses are piled into massive mountains and burnt or simply left to rot, the smell of death and charred flesh mingling to oppress those still living. <em>

_An older Merlin approaches an Arthur who looks the same yet is different- the way he carries himself, the fine lines on his face, his eyes no longer full of life. They are both in battle gear; Arthur idly cleans his sword of the gore, seemingly unaware of Merlin's presence._

_"Arthur. You asked for me."_

_Arthur does not look up, only grunting once._

_"The camp has been secured for the day. You're not planning on starting the march tomorrow, are you?"_

_Another grunt. A crease appears between the aged Merlin's brows. _

_"The soldiers are tired. You have to let them rest sometime."_

_Arthur finally turns to face Merlin. "We march tomorrow." His voice brooks no argument. "Tomorrow, and no later."_

_Merlin's mouth tightens into a thin line. "Arthur, you can't do that." He hesitates a minute. "You've changed."_

_Arthur raises an eyebrow. Merlin swallows, but continues. "You care for your men. And you aren't a cold-blooded killer. The Arthur I knew wouldn't start a war to throw all of Albion in turmoil." _

_Arthur is impassive. He turns his back on Merlin, resuming his cleaning. Merlin's face falls. _

_"You know she didn't blame you. And this isn't the Albion she would have wanted," he whispers. Arthur does not budge. _

_"Ready the men, would you? We need to get moving."_

_Merlin slumps and walks away. _

* * *

><p>The real Merlin breaks from his trance and takes in large gulps of air. He cannot stop the trembling- or the cold that suddenly spreads through his limbs. The crystal caves show what is to be; fate's decree. But Fate herself can be thwarted. Merlin's eyes harden in resolve. As he strides out of the caves, he avoids looking at the myriad of crystals embedded in its walls.<p>

Arthur had somebody he needed to meet.

.

When Merlin arrives back at Camelot, he is greeted by the sight of Morgana by a horse, about to leave. There is only a small entourage with her; he grins slightly thinking of the bickering that must have ensued in order for Arthur to convince her that guards were necessary. Morgana is talking to someone at the gates; Merlin's smile falters, knowing that it is Arthur. Arthur, whose heart had died- is dying- will die with Morgana. It is difficult for Merlin to shake that feeling again; it has not happened. He rides towards her.

Morgana turns and sees him, breaking out into a smile. "Merlin. I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't be here."

Merlin smiles crookedly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I guess...this is goodbye. It's...been an honor." Morgana's voice breaks slightly, and she surprises him by sweeping him a curtsey. He dismounts.

"Morgana. Before you go, could you spare a few minutes with me?"

Morgana shoots him an unreadable look. "Now?"

He nods. "And Arthur too. Please."

Arthur steps into view. He locks eyes with Merlin; he knows where Merlin has been.

"Surely you can endure a little longer within Camelot's walls, Morgana. Come." Arthur bids the retinue return at further notice, and half-drags Morgana back into the castle. Merlin notices he is not looking at her directly.

They walk to a smaller chamber equipped with a table and a few wooden chairs. Arthur forces Morgana to sit down before taking a seat himself. Merlin clears his throat awkwardly.

"The thing is, I might know someone who could help us with your...little problem."

Morgana raises an eyebrow. "And who might that be?"

Merlin scratches his head. "Thing is, it's a bit hard to explain."

Arthur snaps, "If you've dragged us in here, you might as well tell us." He is impatient enough without having to suffer Merlin's drivel.

Merlin ducks his head and mutters, "A dragon that your father imprisoned in the dungeons and I set free."

Morgana's eyebrows inch up her forehead. "A dragon. I thought they were extinct. A dragon."

Arthur buries his face in his hands. "By any chance, would this be the dragon who tried to burn Camelot down that one time? Why are we even considering this?"

Merlin smiles guiltily. "Because...I might be a Dragonlord who can command him at will?"

Arthur lifts his head up and sighs. "Merlin, I'd throw you in the dungeons for keeping yet _another_ secret from me, but this is more important. Now how are we going to talk to it?"

"First, let's get to a nice empty meadow so we don't scare everybody senseless. 'Cause that would be kind of bad."

Arthur rolls his eyes. The news has lifted his spirits a little, and he can see the inklings of hope, just enough to be sarcastic. "No, Merlin. I'm sure something as trivial as a dragon would go unnoticed by the entirety of Camelot."

Morgana stifles a smile, and Arthur leads them out of the citadel walls and into the edges of the woods. Arthur looks at Merlin. "Well?"

Merlin's eyes flash gold, and starts muttering a spell- but stops, because the Great Dragon has already arrived and was about to _land right on him_- he jumps out of the way just in time.

The dragon preens before speaking. "Emrys, what is the reason for this summoning?" Both Arthur and Morgana stare. Merlin ducks his head again. "Don't mind him," he mutters to them before directing his next words at the giant being. "I need your help, Kilgarrah."

The red dragon chuckles. "I expected as much. What has befallen Camelot?"

Merlin looks up. "Actually, it's not Camelot this time. I need to know how we can heal Princess Morgana here." He gestures in the general direction of Morgana. She starts, then curtseys deeply. "It is an honor to meet you, Great Dragon. I am Morgana of Cornwall."

The dragon lowers his neck in Morgana's direction. "I am Kilgarrah, and it seems Nimue has taught you well. Well, princess, it seems you have not long to live."

Arthur pulls Morgana behind him; Morgana glares. Disregarding her look, Arthur snaps, "That's why we need your help, dragon. I need you to heal her, or tell us how we can."

The dragon chuckles again. "Such trivial matters do not concern dragons. Emrys, is this truly why you have summoned me?"

Arthur growls, "This is no trivial matter. You _will_ help us." Merlin sighs and turns to them. "Would you both...um...give us a little privacy? I need to talk to him." Arthur grumbles, but he walks away. Morgana follows.

Kilgarrah's tone is amused. "So Arthur has fallen in love with the Princess, has he? It is a pity that she will not survive."

Merlin meets the ancient reptile's gaze. "About the Albion you were predicting, I had a vision. In the crystal caves."

The dragon quirks his head. "And what was the vision?"

Merlin lowers his voice. "If Morgana dies, Arthur is going to destroy Albion while uniting it. It'll never happen."

Kilgarrah shows his fangs in a toothy grin. "Quite interesting. I suppose I have no choice." He raises his voice. "The princess can be cured, little princeling, only with the rarest of herbs. It gives both life and death to the drinker; only the strong survive. If you wish to seek it, the Maze of Endwyn holds the answers."

Kilgarrah prepares to fly off; Morgana's voice stops him.

"Perhaps you can tell us exactly how this "rarest of herbs" looks? And what we're supposed to do with it? That might come in handy."

The dragon looks back at the three, grinning slightly. "You will know when you see it. It is… impossible to miss. As for how to use it, you may use it in any way you wish." He turns and takes off, tossing down a last remark:

"It will probably kill you in the process, little princess; but it is your only hope. Try if you will." He disappears above the clouds in a few wing beats.

Morgana's mouth is twisted up in a wry smile. "Well, that was singularly enlightening."

Merlin sighs, "He's usually like that. You get used to it."

"Where is this...Maze of Endwyn?" Arthur is already focused on the mission.

Merlin raises and lowers his shoulders. "I'm sure one of Gaius's books will conveniently have all the information regarding the place. It'll probably have a map too."

Morgana rolls her eyes; she has been regaled with tales upon tales of how Merlin and Arthur had thwarted many monsters and threats with the information in Gaius's bestiary- which seemed to be a growing compilation of every magical and non-magical beast under the sun. The three make their way to his chambers.

Gaius is missing, probably off gathering herbs or on an errand. Merlin immediately heads to one of the piles of books strewn around the table and picks one up.

Morgana asks, "Shouldn't we wait for him to come back first?"

Merlin shrugs. "He's gotten used to it. And- what do you know?" He holds up the book he has been flipping through. It is a list of all magical caves in the island, as well as a summary of distinct characteristics. The Maze of Endwyn is prominently visible near the end of the list. Morgana raises an eyebrow.

"How'd you find it so quickly? It's not even alphabetically ordered!" Merlin smirks.

"Let's just say, we've always been very lucky with finding information."

Arthur snatches the book from Merlin's hands. "There's an annotated map. From Camelot… it's not so far. Right. Morgana, you stay here. Merlin and I will find this herb and bring it back. This will work."

Merlin protests, "Hey! You didn't even ask!" Arthur shoots him a look, and he mutters something along the lines of "would have gone anyways". Morgana bites her lip. She opens her mouth and Arthur thinks it's to protest that she can do it herself despite her injury, but he is wrong.

"Arthur." He turns to look at her. "I...would still like to return to Cornwall."

Arthur frowns, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"

She sighs and fiddles with her travelling cloak. "There's no guarantee that this will work. And…" She drops her gaze. "If I'm going to die anyways, I'd like to be with my family for as long as I can."

Arthur slumps slightly. Morgana adds on, "There is no need for you to do this for me. I've...accepted it. And perhaps the Council of Magic at Cornwall will be able to help me. I would not ask you to go on this quest for my sake."

Arthur shakes his head. "No. I'm going no matter what you say, and we _will_ find a way to cure you. Wait at Cornwall if you must. We'll go to you with the herb."

Morgana looks up. "It'll be dangerous. I wouldn't-"

Arthur cuts her off. "If we can find a way to save you, it doesn't matter. Nothing does." Realizing what he said, he blushes a little. Merlin raises an eyebrow.

Morgana lowers her head, letting her inky black hair fall over her face. "Thank you."

Arthur coughs a little. "Um...so… we should get started."

Merlin holds up a hand. "Not so fast. Look here. 'Here be a labyrinthine cave hosting all manner of curiouse beasts and a worlde of strange florae. Be most wary of the danger that lurks; magics have no place here.' What does that mean, magics have no place here?"

Morgana tilts her head to the side. "Perhaps that though the caves are magical, it doesn't actively have ongoing spells?" She shakes her head. "We need more information. We have an archive of texts on magical places in Cornwall..."

Arthur retorts, "We don't have the time. We'll find out soon, in any case. Morgana, take care of yourself in Cornwall. Expect us."

Morgana smiles. "You'll always be welcome in Cornwall. I'll…" She stops. "Wait here." Her slightly fevered cheeks flush in excitement. She walks off-not quite running, but as fast as the fever and her closing wound will allow her to- and soon returns with two mirrors. One is plain black, and has her name engraved on it in simple capitals; the other is ornate and golden. She takes a breath, and raises her hands so that they are lifted above the mirrors. Arthur watches quietly as her eyes turn a steady gold and she whispers a string of sentences in an unintelligible language. When she lowers her hand, both mirrors glow bright yellow, and the surface flashes twice before returning to its original state. Morgana's eyes slowly fade back to its vivid green.

"Here." She holds out the simple black mirror to Merlin. "I'll be able to contact you with these. It'll let you know when I'm trying to reach you; If you want to talk to me, tap it twice and breathe on it. The spell will activate then."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. Morgana notices. "What? Would you rather I give him the fancy one?" She smiles. "I'm afraid Merlin's going to have to use it. The spell requires two magicians to reactivate the connection. It's like putting the spell on again. And it alerts people through their magic; it wouldn't be able to make you notice."

Arthur nods wryly- what else is new?- and Merlin tries it out. He taps twice, breathes on it, and watches as the mirror fogs up then turns a milky gray. Morgana takes her own mirror out and does the same. After she breathes on it, both mirrors glow golden, then reveals each other's faces on the other surface. Merlin is intrigued; he turns the mirror this way and that, looking at Morgana's mirror to see the surface showing what he is holding the mirror up to. Arthur rolls his eyes, and Morgana terminates the spell with a snap of her fingers.

"I'll be able to reach you with any information I find. And you can contact me whenever you want. It'll be easier this way."

Merlin smiles. "I guess we should both go now. I'm sure King Prathead here is very eager to go off on this quest." Arthur whacks Merlin on the head. "That's for calling me prathead." He turns to Morgana. "You should go now. Have a safe journey. Wait for us." _Don't die_ is added on silently. He meets Morgana's eyes. He knows she hasn't forgotten the kiss, but neither of them want to talk about it. So for the moment, they ignore it.

Morgana nods. "Thank you, Arthur." She turns to Merlin. "And you, Merlin. I...truly appreciate it."

Arthur smiles a cocky grin. "How hard can it be? We reach this Maze of Endwyn, we find the herb, we go to you. No evil sorceresses, no armies involved. It's even on the neutral ground around Camelot, so we don't have to worry about trespassing. We'll be there before you know it."

Morgana places a hand on Arthur's forearm. "Be safe." She reaches on tiptoes to place a light kiss on his cheek. He smiles. "And you." She hugs Merlin and excuses herself to start on her journey back.

.

They set off as soon as Merlin packs basic necessities and saddles the horses. Arthur apologizes to the Council once more, putting Gaius in charge this time. It's times like this when he sorely wishes that he had a second-in-command he could have absolute trust in. They ride off at a brisk pace, and it is almost like when he is a prince, off on a quest again with a reprieve from the responsibilities that burden him constantly. The journey is pleasant and nothing remotely interesting happens; Merlin actually starts counting the number of times his horse jumps. Following the path plotted for them based on the map they have copied from the book, they make good progress. When the sun sets, they dismount and set up camp for a well-deserved rest; Arthur builds a fire and they sit around it, staring at the flames. Arthur breaks the silence first.

"Do you think...she's arrived at Cornwall yet?" Merlin rolls his eyes.

"You're not actually _worried _about her, are you?"

Arthur swats the manservant-turned-sorcerer. "Of course I am. It's…" He turns serious. "It's my fault she's dying. If she dies…" Merlin stops smiling.

"She won't. And it's not your fault. Morgana told me what happened."

Arthur pokes at the fire with a long branch. "She told you I stabbed her while trying to kill her in a duel that Nimue forced us into?"

Merlin shakes his head. "She told me she forced you to stab her because it was part of the plan to bring Nimue down. She told me you even took care to miss any vital organs."

Arthur laughs humorlessly. "She told you that? Because it's not true. I meant to kill her, and it's only luck that stopped me from killing her outright."

"But you didn't," Merlin notes. "She's alive, and Nimue's dead."

"And she's going to die because I didn't take care to ward infection," Arthur finishes bitterly. "Blood poisoning is as deadly as a wound any day. More painful."

Merlin sighs. "That's why we're here; so we can help her. It's only chance that it happened; you couldn't have done anything. Gaius's gauze is spelled to ward off infection; you didn't have any. How were you to know?"

Arthur stares at the burning branches. "I should have done something."

Merlin throws up his hands. "What could you have done? Let me tell you, Arthur, you're acting like a prat right now. If you're that worried, I'll contact Morgana now and you can talk to her."

Arthur nods and tries to hide the relieved look on his face when her face appears on the surface of the mirror. Morgana seems to be in an inn; her brows are slightly creased. "Merlin?"

Merlin nods before handing the black mirror to Arthur. He looks into the mirror. "Morgana. How are you faring?" He examines her visage, trying to see any signs of illness. Apart from the fever-flush and the slight trembling that has been constantly with her, he does not see any signs of deteriorating health. He smiles as Morgana expresses her annoyance at Sir Gwaine's refusal to simply camp in the woods; _good_. Morgana notices.

"Arthur, don't tell me you _ordered _him to do that!"

Arthur smirks, satisfied. "What if I did?"

She glares. "You insufferable- it's going to take us another day to reach Cornwall!"

The smirk remains in place. "Anything for your comfort, my lady Morgana."

She rolls her eyes and slumps. "No use whining about it now." Morgana quirks her head. "What about you?"

He grins. "We'll be there by midmorning. If all goes well, we'll reach Cornwall a little after you."

Morgana turns serious. "Be careful, Arthur. I don't want you getting hurt." A knock is heard on her end of the mirror as well as an unfamiliar voice speaking to Morgana, and she turns to somebody not visible from the mirror. "Oh, yes. I'll be down immediately." She turns back to Arthur. "It seems that Gaius has sent word to my father of my return. He's come personally to bring me home. I need to go now." He nods, and Morgana terminates the connection. The mirror turns blank, then returns to its regular reflecting state, so that his reflection is staring back at him. He sighs and hands the mirror back to Merlin.

"We should get some rest." Merlin nods in agreement, and both go to their respective bedrolls.

"Good night."

.

By next morning, they have reached the small meadow and the cave that opens up nearby. The sun is bright, and the entrance of the cave belies no hostility. Merlin looks around, while Arthur sets fire to two torches.

"I know we can always use the ring, but I'd rather save that for later." Merlin raises an eyebrow.

"Didn't Morgana make it with magic? As in, it doesn't burn out?"

He shrugs. "Consider it… a secret advantage. They won't be targeting the ring at first, so if our torches burn out, we'll have a backup plan."

Merlin nods and breathes out.

"Here we go then. The Maze of Endwyn."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As always, many thanks to reviewers! I really was going to stay away for a while, I really was, but after your reviews, I couldn't keep away. I'm very greedy like that. (Thanks in particular to FairyTale87!) **

**So starts my second story arc. They last about 2 chapters each. And don't worry, I'm not going into commentary mode this time. I know there was a lot of both angst and lightheartedness in this chapter; next one will be more driven, I promise. Hopefully, more intense. About the romance, I have had no experience whatsoever in any type of romance, so it will be a) unrealistic b) minimal and c) juvenile. Sorry about that in advance. :)**


	16. Bring the Lasting Night

The opening of the cave is wide and spacious; At first, both Arthur and Merlin are constantly on the lookout. After at least an hour of walking, they relax and start talking again. As they venture into the inner caves, Merlin starts taking note of the various flowers that grow inside the cave; he marvels at the variety that is clearly visible despite the lack of sunlight. There is everything from miniature pine trees to giant flowers of ebony; Nothing that should have been able to grow in these shady caves.

"Arthur. Look at this." Merlin points to a particularly vibrant flower. "How are we supposed to find the herb when we don't know what it looks like? It could be any of these."

Arthur sweeps his hair back. "The dragon said it was impossible to miss. Perhaps if we keep going."

They walk on, arriving at a clear underground pool. Merlin checks the water to see if it's poisonous with a simple method; he cups water with one hand and drops the indicator powder in with the other hand. It remains clear, and Merlin nods to Arthur.

"It's safe." Arthur comes over and takes a look. "So it seems."

They both take a drink and fill up their wineskins. Merlin is just about to take another drink of water when a glint of light reflects off the surface of the spring. He drops the water and looks up.

"Did you turn your ring on, Arthur?"

Arthur frowns. "No. And the torches are on this wall. What is it?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Imagining things. I saw some light-" He cuts himself off in disbelief. "Arthur- the pool! Do you see it?

The surface of the spring reflects a clear sky. Clouds are visible, as is the autumn sun. They both look up. The rocky ceiling of the cave stares back at them. Arthur frowns.

"Something's wrong. This isn't-" A sudden rumbling sound stops him. It grows louder and louder until it is deafening. Arthur and Merlin look around hastily, trying to locate its source. Merlin calls, "The ceiling! Arthur, the ceiling is moving!"

True to his words, the rock ceiling is trembling and shifting. Arthur looks up. "It has to hold. It can't be collapsing in on us." The walls give another groan and suddenly, it gives with a tremendous bang. Arthur and Merlin throw their arms up to shield themselves. Nothing falls.

Merlin peeks out. "What? Shouldn't the rocks be falling on us right now?"

"Well obviously it isn't," Arthur snaps back. "What's happening?"

They both look up. The earth starts shaking; they watch on in half-horror, half-fascination as the ceiling disintegrates into nothingness, revealing the sky reflected in the pool. Merlin breathes, "Magic."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Obviously. What now?"

They retreat from the pool and venture further into the now-aboveground network of stone walls. It truly looks like a maze now; with the October sun shining down on them and all manner of flora unfurling themselves, the Maze of Endwyn looks almost beautiful. Arthur shields his eyes from the sun- he can see to an extent the path the maze will take. He turns to Merlin.

"It's a twisted labyrinth. We'll get lost if we don't find a way to keep on track. We're staying together."

Merlin starts and fumbles with his bags. He brings out the mirror, taps it twice, and breathes on it. Morgana's face appears. She seems to be astride a horse this time, and is passing through a meadow. Arthur immediately comes to Merlin's side.

"What is it, Morgana?" He questions without preamble. Morgana nods. "Good to see you're both alive and well. I've just been talking to a druid. Apparently there are legends of a giant-" she turns to the side and exchanges some words with a person out of sight of the mirror, "-a giant plant at the heart of the maze. They say it is an herb that is said to cure all ills."

Arthur smiles. "That should be easy enough to find. A giant plant in the middle."

Morgana frowns a little. "Can you even see in there? It's so dark- you're in a cave. How will you find your way?"

Merlin quirks his head. "What do you mean? We're in broad daylight here. We _were _in a cave, but somehow the ceiling disappeared."

"I see a stone ceiling from the mirror. Did the ceiling really disappear?" Morgana questions.

Arthur frowns. "Something's wrong." He reaches up try to feel where the ceiling was before- nothing. His hand waves out at the sky. "Nothing here."

Merlin reaches up too. "He's right, Morgana. There's nothing-" His hand thwacks against something. "That's funny." He reaches out to feel that part. His eyes widen. "You're right, Morgana. There's something here. It-" He moves his hand across the _something _that he can't see. "It feels like...the stone ceiling." Arthur pushes him out of the way and reaches up to touch it himself. His hand meets nothing. "What do you mean, _Mer_lin? There's nothing here!" A startled sound comes from the mirror and they both turn back to Morgana's image. Arthur asks, "What?"

Morgana pales. "Arthur… do that again." Arthur obliges, waving his hand up where Merlin had felt something. Nothing. Morgana's eyes are wide. "Arthur...from what I can see, your hand is actually going _through _the ceiling."

Merlin whirls. He looks up and sees nothing, but when he tries to reach out, he is stopped by something again. Arthur is still able to stretch with no problems.

Morgana whispers, "This isn't right." She raises her voice. "Get out of there. I'm telling you, Arthur, you can't risk it. Get out right now."

Arthur shakes his head. "I'm going to find the herb and bring it back to you. Don't worry about us."

Merlin grins shakily. "Yeah, we'll be fine. Try to find out something about this place. Anything would help."

Morgana's brows crease. "No. Please, go back. It'll be alright. I'll be fine. Just- go back to Camelot."

Arthur grins at her. "I'm touched you're worried. But we'll be fine. Now, tell us when you reach Cornwall."

He hands the mirror back to Merlin, who terminates contact. Morgana's worried visage slowly fades from the surface of the mirror.

Merlin sighs. "Morgana's right. You should go back. Camelot needs you, remember?"

Arthur stares straight ahead. "Let's get on with this."

There isn't much Merlin can say. They walk on for hours, but little changes except for the sun that they are not sure is real sets eventually, throwing them in darkness. Until Arthur suddenly freezes.

"Do you hear that?" Merlin shakes his head.

"Nothing."

"Something's following us," Arthur mutters. The wind picks up and soon the torches are flickering. This time even Merlin hears the boom behind them. Both whip around, torches at the ready, and the already weak flames die out. Everything is thrown into darkness.

Boom!

A crash, and Arthur is hurled into the wall of the maze. Merlin looks around frantically in the darkness. "Where-?"

Arthur gets up slowly, wincing. He taps the ring three times, and it emits a strong glow that fills their vicinity. Merlin's shadow is long behind him. Merlin runs to Arthur, and they look for their strange enemy.

Nothing.

The ominous silence grows heavy on them. They slowly continue on, until Merlin chances a glance behind them.

"Arthur, duck!"

Arthur spins around, unsheathing his sword with one smooth movement and aiming the light of his ring behind them. A blur of fur and dark webbed skin flashes in the light. It charges at Arthur, and he swings at the thing with the sword. It passes cleanly through; and then there are two of them. Merlin pulls him out of the way as the two _things_ turn to attack.

"They're magical! Don't slice them; they'll multiply." But Arthur is no longer listening. Something else has caught his eyes.

"Mother?" He takes a step towards the gold-haired woman that a druid has but once shown him. The woman spreads her arms towards him; she smiles. "Arthur." Her pristine dress and carefully styled hair is very much out of place in this dank cave. "It's good to see you." In the distance, he can hear Merlin blasting the two furry things with magic; they disintegrate. He pays no attention. "Mother, it's dangerous here."

Igraine's smile widens. "I know. That's why I'm here." Thick red blood suddenly flows from her eyes, from her ears, from her mouth- it pours down her white gown and dyes everything incarnadine. Somewhere, Merlin shrieks in agony. Her smile keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until it reaches her eyes and suddenly her skin is ripping apart, revealing nothing but a skeleton. Arthur cries out in horror and stumbles back, colliding into Merlin. The skeleton walks towards him, growing new flesh, and suddenly it isn't his mother anymore, it's Nimue, her eyes burning with vengeance. She folds her arms and stands in front of him.

"No! Nimue!" Arthur brings his sword up in a defensive stance. Another hand clamps down on his shoulder; before he can strike out, he sees it is Merlin, worried and pale.

"Arthur. Arthur. What's going on? The walls were about to close in- I don't know what's going on…" Arthur stares at Nimue; she steps back and waits, and Merlin shows no signs of seeing her.

"Nimue! She's right there...Can't you see?" Merlin looks around. "Arthur, there's no one there."

Arthur closes his eyes and opens them. No Nimue. He turns to Merlin. "You're righ-" Suddenly Nimue is there, grinning obscenely at him where Merlin had been. Arthur points his sword at her. "Get away, Nimue."

But it's Merlin's voice that replies, "Arthur, put that sword away. Nimue's not here."

He shouts, "Don't lie to me! I know you're playing tricks. This is for Morgana's sake. Now let us alone!"

Nimue whispers, "What makes you think I'll care about that now? I'm dead, remember?"

Merlin's voice is suddenly audible once more, overlapping with Nimue's echoing tones. Arthur calls, "Get away, Merlin. Nimue's dangerous."

Nimue suddenly vanishes, and he sees Merlin fumbling out the black mirror. Arthur breathes heavily, trying to find where Nimue has gone.

Merlin calls into the mirror, "Now's not a good time, Morgana. We've...Arthur's seeing things, and I don't know what to do. Something just attacked..."

Still focused, Arthur shouts back, "Nimue's here, and I'm not seeing things."

Morgana's voice is urgent. "Merlin, there's something about the caves- have you used magic?"

Merlin nods hesitantly. "Just now- and then someone attacked my mind…"

She raises her voice. "The caves latch on to magic, do you hear me? Don't use magic. It shifts reality itself...that's what Gaius's book meant…" Merlin suddenly falls to his knees, groaning. Arthur runs over.

"Merlin, what?" Merlin looks up, and his face is Nimue's.

"You!"

Nimue cackles and gets up, leaving Merlin prone and shuddering in anguish on the ground. She flicks a hand, and suddenly Morgana is there and she is screaming too. Arthur stumbles towards her. Morgana's screams echoes through the stone walls as Nimue waves her hands and mutters words that are unintelligible. He trips and falls by Merlin's side; Morgana is still shrieking in agony while there's another Morgana in the mirror, trying to shout over the anguished screams. He can't hear her, but he can see her dimly in the light desperately mouthing words, her eyes flashing, and a dagger crashing towards the surface of the mirror- then the mirror shatters into millions of pieces. Nimue laughs.

"There's nothing you can do, Arthur Pendragon. Now watch as your friends suffer for your crimes." She clenches her hand and suddenly Morgana falls silent, and she slumps over. He crawls over to her, trying desperately to wake her, because even the screaming was better than this, even the torture, because that meant she's alive and this means something he doesn't want to accept, and he looks at Merlin but he isn't there. He keeps shaking her even as a familiar pair of hands wrenches his only source of light from him; he tries to grab at his ring, tries to throw a punch at the person stealing the only thing he has left of _her_ now, but he misses. The light dims and dies in an arc through the air as it is thrown into the dark abyss. It disappears.

Silence.

Nimue is gone, and so is Morgana and her dull, lifeless eyes, and he is left gasping for breath on the cold floor. He looks around. Absolutely nothing. No blood, no bodies, just Merlin, leaning against the walls and gasping. Just Merlin, and he realizes that it was Merlin's hands who took off his ring. He gulps deep lungfuls of air before asking, "What happened?"

Merlin looks down, and Arthur follows his gaze. They both see the dark outline of the shattered remains of the black mirror; Merlin shivers. "Morgana was saying something; but there were thousands and thousands of voices speaking to me and trying to find their way inside my head. I couldn't...I didn't…" He looks up. "It disappeared suddenly, but you were still under. Somehow, it had to do with your ring; I threw it away. And...I guess we're both alive."

Arthur steadies himself. "Morgana said...something about magic. Don't use magic. She said some other things too, but I couldn't hear and you were...screaming. Morgana broke the mirror, I think. I saw her use magic in the mirror. But she was here too, and Nimue was torturing her; but Nimue was dead, and…" He shudders. "I don't understand."

Merlin looks down. "The caves must have been waiting for us to use any form of magic. The mirror is a stronger piece of magic; I went crazy for a while there. It must have grabbed onto the ring when you activated it. And now-" He looks around. "We've lost our only source of light, and I have no idea where we are. Why does this always happen to us?"

Arthur slumps. "I don't know." He suddenly glances up. "But it's not completely dark in here. I can see…"

Merlin jumps up. "Light! Something _has_ to be there!" He picks up the remains of his bags. "Let's follow it."

Arthur peers over, then makes up his mind. "It seems to be our only choice."

The source of the silvery light soon becomes apparent to them: a giant, floating behemoth of a bush, in full flowering bloom. Thousands of saucer-sized flowers adorn its lower edges. The flowers are purple and gold; they emit a strange unpleasant odor comparable to rotten watermelon mixed with congealed milk and sweat, but they glow in a strange silver light. Merlin raises his eyebrows.

"I guess… this is it."

Arthur looks up at the hovering bush. "The dragon was right when he said it was impossible to miss. How is it even possible for this to exist?"

Merlin shrugs. "I'm not about to question how plants in our world can defy laws of physics. I'm a contradiction myself; I don't want to take the chance that the universe decides that I don't exist."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Let's get the flower and go home." He reaches out and plucks a flower. The light flares, then dims again. Arthur looks at the flower in his hand. He sniffs and grimaces. "I wouldn't want to be Morgana."

Merlin picks a couple more. "I know blood poisoning's really not common anymore in Camelot, but just in case."

Arthur nods and together, they collect a dozen. Merlin holds one up.

"At least we don't need to worry about light. This will do just fine."

.

The journey out of the cave is almost anti-climatic. Nothing happens; they use the soft glow from the flowers to see their way out. Merlin takes care to not use any magic whatsoever. When they finally reach the entrance, neither have felt any more shifts of reality. Merlin breathes a sigh of relief.

"Well, we're out of this alive."

Arthur smirks. "Seems even the Maze of Endwyn wasn't a match for us in the end."

They walk a full mile away from the entrance, just to be safe. Merlin summons the horses that have been set free in the woods; unlike their last quest, the area is in Camelot and they had had no need to hide any traces of their being there. Arthur takes care to pack the flowers in a cloth pouch.

Merlin reins their horses in, and they both mount up. It has taken them but three days in total to retrieve the flower; Morgana cannot have been at Cornwall long. Still, they ride hard and fast in the direction of Cornwall.

After less than a day's ride, the walls of Tintagel are visible, as is the shore. Merlin smiles as he sees the powerful waves crashing on the beach. "It's beautiful."

Arthur states, "We're not here for sightseeing. And haven't you been here before?"

Merlin shrugs. "What of it? It's still beautiful."

Arthur rides past him in a huff towards the gates, and Merlin follows. When the sentries sight them approaching the entrance, they immediately rush to salute them and open the grand gates. As Arthur and Merlin dismount, one of the soldiers rush to take the reins of the horses.

"My  
>lords, King Gorlois has been informed of your arrival. He will be down shortly. If I may, the horses will be put in the royal stable." Merlin nods, and Arthur frowns. "What of the Princess Morgana?"<p>

The man busies himself with the reins. "I'm afraid my lady is...indisposed. Since her return, she has not been able to receive visitors. Almost none have been informed of her condition."

Arthur nods, and the soldier excuses himself. As they stand in the courtyard, King Gorlois rushes towards them, followed by a few of his councilors. Merlin bows, as does Gorlois's retinue. Gorlois and Arthur clasp each other's arms in a gesture of friendship. Gorlois looks at the younger man.

"I trust that your journey has been successful?" Gorlois's eyes are hopeful. Arthur nods. A small smile softens Gorlois's worried countenance.

"Excellent. All of Cornwall is grateful for what you have done for my Morgana."

Arthur returns the smile. "I would like to see the Princess now, if it is possible."

Gorlois's smile falters. "Of course it is possible, but perhaps it would be better if you had some rest first...and Morgana must have some time to prepare for visitors."

Arthur nods, but he is silently wondering how she is. Gorlois's expression seems to tell that Morgana is not quite well. Putting that thought aside, he asks, "To whom should I give this?" He holds up the cloth pouch of the magical flowers.

Gorlois smiles, this time in relief. "Those truly are the legendary flowers. I had worried… but I thank you."

One of the richly clad councilors steps forward. It is a woman, swathed in druidic robes. "Master Emrys may come with me to divine their use. Arthur nods assent, and gives Merlin a subtle push in her direction when he doesn't get the hint. Merlin takes the cloth bag and trots off after her. Arthur is left alone with Gorlois, and the old king insists on escorting him to his guest chambers personally.

The corridors are as airy as they had been in his previous visits, but there is an atmosphere of worry surrounding the entire citadel. The servants are not in animated conversations with each other; the lords and ladies wander past. Gorlois notices Arthur's discomfort.

"I am sorry Cornwall is so...ill prepared for your visit. We all are worried about Morgana. She...has not been feeling well. Even Morgause has seen fit to come."

Morgause. Cenred's queen and Morgana's elder sister. How serious must it have been that Queen Morgause has made the day-long trip, leaving her kingdom? It has been less than two weeks since their return from the Isle of the Blessed; Gaius had said Morgana would not survive to see next spring. It was barely autumn now; six months at the very longest. But blood poisoning kills off its victims at its own pace.

It couldn't be...that he was already too late.

Gorlois stops at an ornate door, and motions for Arthur to enter. They step into the chamber; it is clearly a guest chamber, but one that is lavishly furnished. Not the one he occupied in his previous stays, but perhaps one reserved for royal visitors. Gorlois exchanges some more pleasantries with Arthur, but soon leaves. Arthur sinks down onto one of the stuffed chairs in front of the fireplace, but he is not left alone for long. A servant in Cornwall's livery knocks and enters, bringing in a basin of rose water as well as a change of clothes. The shirt and pants are serviceable; the jacket, he notices, is his own. He realizes that he must have left it when he stayed in Cornwall for the second peace treaty. He turns it over. He remembers that this particular red jacket had had a rip; he blamed Morgana. In any case, he had tossed it to the side and promptly forgot about it. He runs his hand over the red fabric. No rip. He turns it over again to look at the seams. A note falls out. He smiles.

Somebody has stitched the rip together with red thread to be less conspicuous. The stitches are not large, but nor are they tiny. It looks like the work of one experienced in sewing, but who has yet to master it. He picks up the note.

_King Arthur, _

_I trust this will find itself to you eventually. Do take better care of your clothing._

_Morgana_

By the way she addresses him, he guesses that she must have fixed it and written the note before she left on the quest. Perhaps during one of their correspondences. He washes his face with the basin of water, then changes his torn clothes for the ones offered and shrugs the jacket on. He feels relatively human now.

It's not long before another liveried servant knocks at the door. He opens it, and it's Morgana's own maidservant this time, curtseying and asking him if he could please follow her to see her mistress. He rushes out. The path Sarah takes him through is rather unfamiliar; he realizes that during his previous stays, not once has he visited her chambers. She visited him, or they met under more formal circumstances. Sarah stops after two flights of stairs and a long corridor at a door, less ornate than his own. She calls, "King Arthur is here, my lady," and opens the door. Arthur stumbles in.

Morgana is sitting at a comfortable chair, looking pale but composed. She stands up with a struggle when she sees him, breaking out into a relieved smile. "Thank heavens you're all right."

Arthur walks in, drinking in the sight of her. She is very much the worse for wear, with shadows under her eyes and her skin almost ghostly save for her bright red cheeks. She is constantly shaking, and as his footsteps bring him closer to her, he sees that she is thinner and that she is flushed with fever. She offers him a seat, and he takes it. He looks around.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Morgana rolls her eyes. "It gets a little tedious staring at the ceiling all day." Her breaths come in little gasps, as if she has been running. Another symptom of the blood poisoning strengthening its grip on her. She turns serious.

"What…happened in there?"

Arthur looks at her. "We got in, found the flower, came back. Like I said we would. Even Merlin didn't mess things up."

Morgana retorts, "That's not what it looked like when I talked to you. Merlin…." He shakes his head.

"Turns out the caves latch onto magic; the mirror spell was a huge target." Morgana nods shakily. Her hands, fiddling with her sleeves, seem almost skeletal. It is frightening, how much the illness has affected her in less than five days. She whispers, "I was so worried. Breaking the mirror spell; I couldn't be sure it would stop whatever was happening and I couldn't see what was happening. I couldn't _do_ anything-I couldn't help, and both of you were in danger because of _me_."

He looks away. "It wasn't your fault." He takes a breath. "This whole thing's my fault, if you think of it that way-" he stops, looking at Morgana. "Morgana, are you-?"

Morgana has hunched down, cradling her stomach. She gasps out, "I- I don't-"

Arthur doesn't hesitate. He picks her up bodily, trying not to hurt her more, and lays her on the bed. She tries to stifle her whimpers while Arthur runs to ask Sarah to please find a healer, or anybody, because the Princess is ill. After the maid rushes off, Arthur sits by the bedside.

"Morgana, what's wrong?"

She tries to choke out an answer, but only a strangled cry results. Her eyes are wide as her whole body is wracked with violent tremors, and she hurriedly reaches for a basin. She tries to retch, but nothing comes out. Arthur watches helplessly as Morgana puts it aside and tries to struggle up.

"Don't...worry about...this…" Arthur tries to push her back down, but she insists on getting up. "Didn't...want to...talk to you...like an invalid...stuck in bed…" Her gasps become more and more shallow, and Arthur grabs her forearms to steady her as she gets to her feet.

"There's no need to get up- I can talk to you fine." She looks up at him, tries to smile, opens her mouth to fire a retort- then promptly crumples to the floor. Arthur, panicked now, hauls her up onto the bed. Morgana's eyelids flutters, but they shut and she remains unconscious. As he tries to figure out what to do, Gorlois, Merlin, and the woman who had taken the flower burst into the room. Gorlois exclaims, "Morgana!"

Arthur turns to them. "She fainted. She was hyperventilating…" The woman presses her lips into a tight line.

"I was afraid this would happen so soon. She's going into shock."

Gorlois grabs her arm. "What does that mean, Risbeh?"

The woman called Risbeh pulls away and gets to work trying to cover Morgana with blankets. "Her condition's taken a turn for the worse. It usually takes more than a month for this to happen...but a couple of days ago, the spread of the poison accelerated. I can't guarantee anything now." She calls to Merlin, "Have you prepared the flower?"

The sorcerer nods uncertainly, and Risbeh snaps, "Then be quick and bring it already!" Merlin hastens to obey as her eyes flash golden and she presses little orbs of light to Morgana's temples.

Gorlois sinks to his knees at the bedside. "Morgana, please wake up." Arthur stands next to him, willing the same. He directs his question to the woman. "What does the flower do exactly?"

Risbeh does not pause in her work. "Purges the blood. Don't know what else it does. Records only say it cleans blood of infection and poison. Last time it was used, it killed the patient- worse than the poison sometimes."

Arthur's and Gorlois's heads snap up in unison. Arthur stutters, "It killed the patient?"

Risbeh's eyes snap back to its dark brown color and she glares at them both. "What do you expect? The entire bloodstream is cleansed. It's the only thing that will drive out blood poisoning this late, but the process is excruciating. " She turns her focus back to the unconscious princess and her eyes glow again. She keeps summoning the orbs of light to press into pressure points. Merlin rushes in with a crystal bottle. Risbeh holds her hand out, and Merlin hesitantly drops it into her palm. She stops her treatment and turns to face the men. She bites her lip. "Gorlois. This is your choice. It could kill her. Will you still allow it?"

Arthur grits his teeth and looks away. Not his choice, not his battle, not his choice. Merlin stares at the glinting bottle with consternation. Gorlois strokes Morgana's hair. He chokes out, "Yes."

Risbeh runs a hand through her greying hair, sweeping the dark strands away from her face. Behind her, Morgana's breath shortens. Risbeh grits, "Then get out."

Arthur stares at her in disbelief. "What-"

She cuts him off. "You heard me. Out. I don't have time for this. Out."

Gorlois gets to his feet. "Risbeh…"

She glares at them. "It's not going to be pretty. You won't be able to handle it. Get. Out. Or I will remove you by force." Arthur wants to argue- after all, the woman is shorter than him by at least a foot and a half, and slim to boot. She wouldn't be able to force anyone out. But Gorlois takes Arthur by the shoulder and leads him out. Merlin shuts the door behind them, and they make the slow walk back to Arthur's chambers.

The wooden doors aren't thick enough to muffle the torturous ragged scream that tears itself out of Morgana's throat. It follows them as they tread determinedly on, and the piercing sound echoes through the corridor. Arthur's knees threaten to buckle at one point, and he dares not look at Gorlois. _His fault his fault his fault_. Gorlois leads them to Arthur's chambers, then leaves without a word.

The screams continue on.

.

Merlin is shaken awake by a pacing Arthur. He tries to work the stiffness out of his neck; he had fallen asleep sitting up. Merlin blinks, disoriented, while Arthur continues shaking him. Merlin coughs. "All right, I'm awake!"

Arthur looks at him. "The screams have stopped." Merlin blinks again and looks out of the window. Night. He frowns. "How long have I been asleep?"

Arthur shrugs. "I wasn't paying attention." The sorcerer rolls his eyes.

"Why'd you wake me again?"

Arthur grunts. "You talked to that healer, didn't you? Why has Morgana gotten worse so fast?"

Merlin gulps. "You...don't need to know." Arthur shoots him a look and taps his fingers on the table. Merlin looks away.

"The magic strained her."

_Oh._ "What magic?"

Merlin waves his hands. "The mirror. Not making it; it's a simple enough spell, and using it wasn't doesn't take too much power."

"Then what?"

"I'm guessing it's the effort taken to break the magic from the mirror completely when there was an ongoing connection. It's much more difficult to overpower another person's spell, and when the spell was active, she had to deal with both my magic and hers."

"She...overpowered _your _magic?" Arthur inquires. That is hard to believe.

Merlin shrugs. "I'm not sure. More like cut the connection. In any case, the backlash hit her hard."

Breaking the spell. Arthur sighs. "Why does this feel like it's my fault every time she gets hurt?"

Merlin smiles crookedly. "You'll get over it." Arthur shakes his head.

"I-" A scream. Arthur grits his teeth. "She's awake."

.

Gorlois drops by the next morning. The screams, more halting and hoarse, continue on and off. The older king looks haggard.

"King Arthur, Master Merlin, I would understand if you need to leave for Camelot now. There is no need for you to stay here when… when Morgana is not able to see you. It must be painful as well for you…

Arthur shakes his head. "How long...does the healers say it will take?"

Gorlois sighs. "Another day. Or two. In truth, they are not sure."

Merlin places a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Arthur. We need to go back to Camelot. She'll be alright."

Arthur hesitates; he would like to be here when she wakes. But Camelot needs him. His first duty is to his kingdom, after all. After a long pause, he nods.

Gorlois smiles raggedly. "We will make the preparations. I wish you a safe journey. And thank you."

Arthur nods, and Gorlois walks out. Merlin says, "You made the right choice. There's nothing you can do here."

He nods at that. Merlin begins to prepare for their journey back.

They leave that day. Gorlois and most of his councilors follow them to the gates, to bid farewell. Gorlois clasps Arthur on the shoulder, thanking him once again for the return of his daughter. "We will alert you immediately when there is news," he says.

Arthur nods wordlessly; after all goodbyes have been said, he turns his horse and sets off in Camelot's direction. Merlin nods to them as well, then he too follows.

It's a quiet journey back to Camelot.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter is...ugh. I had time on my hands, but I didn't feel like touching it up. And I'm not happy with the chapter. This was sort of supposed to be the most intense part, you know? And it's not like I didn't have enough to work with. Whatever. **

**Hope you enjoyed, and please please please review? The story is reaching its end- can you believe that in the beginning, this was a headcanon dump?- and I need an extra push to finish it. Thanks!**

**(If you're interested, this is the fifth-last chapter. The ending is...iffy, though. )**


	17. Through Another's Eyes

**A/N: Hey people! Here's the first (and probably only) Morgana-oriented chapter! I know, I know, I said this story's mostly Arthur-centric, but I couldn't help it. So here we go. Thanks to all reviewers!**

Blessed nothingness. She is floating in a dark abyss. There is no pain, no heat, no feeling of your own blood burning you from the inside. It is almost possible to imagine her body is not rebelling against her. No need to stem that raw cry that tears itself out of her throat, because it isn't there anymore. She doesn't know how long it's been, but she doesn't really care either. She doesn't want to wake up. If death is half as welcoming, she'd go gladly…

But of course, she must wake up. It's her duty, after all. And her life has always conformed to the demands of her duties. So when she feels a hand gently shaking her awake, she forces herself to open her eyes. The colors of the room swim into focus. She groans. A face comes into view.

"Father?" Her voice is scratchy and hoarse; no surprises there. Last thing she remembered, she was screaming her life out as the lifeblood in her turned to ashes. She struggles up.

Gorlois sighs in relief. "Morgana. You have no idea… I'm glad you're back." Morgana offers him a weak smile. "It...worked? I remember Arthur…" Gorlois pats her hand.

"King Arthur had to return to his home, as was his duty. He will be informed of your recovery."

Not here. Of course not. Why would he wait- how many days had it been? Morgana clears her throat experimentally.

"How…long was I out?"

"Two days and a half. For a while, we were worried…" Gorlois trails off, but Morgana can fill in the blanks. _That I wouldn't be able to make it._ She quirks her lips up. "Wouldn't leave you so soon." Her father smiles at that, more in relief than anything else. The cynical part of her whispers that he would grieve because she is a valuable asset and his only direct heir; but she knows better. Father loves her; hadn't he split Cornwall from Camelot to protect her and Morgause? Of course he does. That she is useful only makes him love her more. Her eyes droop against her will. Gorlois notices.

"I see you're tired. You should rest." He stands up from his chair at her bedside, and the healers come closer. The head one- Risbeh, that perpetually uptight chief healer- raps out instructions. As the healers scurry to do her bidding, Risbeh snaps a hand at Morgana. "Keep awake, would you? We need to make sure you're fully healed before you go back to sleep." Gorlois opens his mouth as if to protest, and the woman points at him, saying, "Oh no _my lord_, you keep out of this. By your leave." Gorlois sighs but complies, and Morgana idly wonders how Risbeh always gets away with being rude to _everybody_- she could say anything she wanted, treat her king like a bumbling novice in the way, and she would not go punished. She smiles inwardly at the scandal it would cause if she acted like her even for a day. And it would be counterproductive to Cornwall. Remember Cornwall. She keeps her mind as awake as she can; the little tricks she uses to keep awake during sentry duty come in handy. As the healers' eyes flash, various magics surround her to check her aura and whether her blood is flowing well and her heart rate. She hides her annoyance; she's_ fine_ and it's not like she can't even tell if her body is ill. They could just ask her. The feel of the foreign magic enveloping her stifles her, and she almost snaps at them to let her do it herself. But before she does, they withdraw their magic and she can breathe again. She raises an eyebrow.

"Am I allowed to move now?" The healers almost ignore her, talking amongst themselves. After a while- a _long_ while in which Morgana becomes impatient- Risbeh steps forward. "You're completely free of infection, your highness."

Morgana almost-snaps, "Good." She exhales to try to diffuse her annoyance and straightens up. Back to life then. Magical attacks over, but systematic checks needed just in case; there should be reports from the village heads she'd neglected for two weeks now; council meetings. Modulating her voice to be more cordial, she says, "Now if you will excuse me, I would like to attend to some matters-" Risbeh cuts her off.

"Whatever matters you have can wait. You're staying in bed rest for a week. Two if you misbehave."

Morgana bites her lip. A week in bed means three and a half weeks' work waiting for her at the end. She owes Cornwall more than this. "I'm not staying in bed for _a week_. I have duties that must be carried out."

The older woman rolls her eyes. "Others can fill in. Don't worry your pretty head about it. You're staying _three _if you can't handle one. Now rest." She pivots on her heel and walks out, the rest of the healers bobbing their heads at her and milling about before leaving after her. The door closes. Morgana is left alone in the room.

Breathe. In, out. In, out. Nothing she can do- Risbeh is right, at least a little. She needs to rest. But her work… She closes her eyes.

_Shadows of long-past wars flitting through her mind. Father leading troops to battle the blood red of Camelot's advancing troops. Druids milling in; the Great Purge has begun. Uther in the dead of night- neutral grounds, unarmed, a lingering fragment of the trust that used to be. Father, father with pain so clear in his eyes that it's a wonder that Uther does not see, telling his oldest friend that he must stand against him for his wife, for his daughters, for her, Morgana. Vivienne's vengeance when Uther slaughters her family. Mother, the Dorocha are too dangerous, they won't listen to you, don't go mother… Nimue, why won't you come, I'm scared and the Dorocha are here and Uther's going to drown me for my magic, but it's mother who comes in the end and it's mother who falls at the veil. Mother, don't go. Nimue, why isn't she coming back and why does Morgause have to go to war now, must I stay? And I can see the dead from here and it's a bloody ninth birthday happy birthday to me happy birthday to me happy birthday…._

She opens her eyes with a swallowed gasp. Of course it's not real. She should be used to it by now; that dream's a particular favorite for the Sight to show her. She thinks it's her magic reminding her what sheowes Father and Cornwall and Mother and Nimue. All that sacrifice, so that she may live free. And so she must give as well. One thing she refuses to let herself be is an ingrate and a coward. It doesn't matter what she loses, so long as she does her part.

Idle thinking, Morgana chides herself. You have a duty, you do it. Repay those who you will always be indebted to. She lifts herself up slightly- then slumps over in resignation. Who was she kidding. There's nothing to _do_ but idle thinking. Risbeh and Father probably conspired to remove anything even remotely connected to the outside world or actually useful. No practicing magic, no combat training, no administration documents. Not even a book to entertain herself with. Might as well sort herself out while she's stuck in endless bed rest. It's either that or brush her hair _a thousand times _why bother. Her arms are too weak to lift herself up, let alone move the brush through her locks for that long. Maybe sleep wasn't such a bad idea…

When she wakes up, she finds that she has slept the day away; the moon is the only glow that fills her empty chambers. She rubs her eyes wearily. Nobody has been in the room- she knows because she's enchanted the room to hold aura imprints of every visitor that set foot inside her chambers. Not even the healers, or Sarah. She remembers Sarah had been given a month's holiday before she left. She chuckles drily, reaching for a cup of water she knows is by her bedside. It wasn't like she was expecting anyone to come. Morgause had been called back to Escetia by an urgent messenger from her husband; matters of state. Father was probably busy with the same. And who else was there to visit her? Morgana knows that she is not a pleasant person to be close to. And after Nimue- kinship is the only thing she will trust; her father and sister. They understand what is the right thing to do; that one must pour everything they have into Cornwall, if only because Cornwall has suffered for them. She had never understood- found it hard to tolerate- when the people around her refused to do the same. What are their little flirtations, petty jealousies, compared to their duty? Should they not focus all of their energy on protecting their people?

Morgana leans back into the pillow, closing her eyes. She wouldn't have wanted visitors anyways. She was used to being left to herself; a princess must stand above her people, unreachable. Friendships weaken. She'd figured that out herself, at least. If she ever had any friends, she forgot them a long time ago. Her father's love- Father and Morgause was enough. Protecting her home and her people, even more so. And she is happy, whenever she rides around the villages to the cheers of the adoring farmers; when the men in Cornwall's army salute her respectfully; when reports show that all is well in her kingdom. Right or wrong is relative; honor and friendship are illusions. They are all stripped away by the cold reality of death. It's simpler that way. And everyone loves her, as long as she plays her part. She tells herself that. It's better to think that, forget about mentors and confidantes and belonging.

Arthur. Why does his absence bother her so? He is not vital to her world in any way. He is not beholden to her either; except for the whole 'sorry about stabbing you', which he should not feel sorry about in any way, since it was part of her plan anyways. He did exactly what he was supposed to do; what was there to be ashamed of? What she herself did was a different story- might as well add 'treacherous' to the list of broken adjectives that describes her, because that is what she did to the only other person who cared about her freely. She tries to forget Nimue's face as she died in pain. Arthur. Think about Arthur.

Now she owes him as well, and that is...not good. She cannot understand him, him and his inherent-what's the word?- goodness, that's the only word that fits. What kind of king risks his life for one person? Of course she is grateful, but she is absolutely lost. That kiss…Just thinking about it makes her blush. She'd never had a kiss like that, not the romantic kind, because love was for children and it made people weak.

Doesn't mean she doesn't like it, though.

She realizes that she _misses _them; really, this is a first. She misses the playful banter between herself, Arthur, and Merlin, how conversation is easier around them. That she could say what she thought (which was most of the time uncharitable or rude) and they wouldn't judge her. And the pranks they pull on each other- Father would be horrified if they ever found out- they amuse her to no end. Reminds her of herself and Morgause-

She is surprised by the sudden thought that hits her:

Arthur and even Merlin are her friends.

She cracks another smile and sips at the water, before laying her head back on the pillow.

Maybe they even miss her.

She sleeps easier that night.

"Morgana."

She stands up when she sees her father coming in through the doorway. "Father. How is everything going?"

Gorlois motions for her to sit down. Morgana is fully healed by now, but she had been banned from any sort of physical exertion for at least a month. It wasn't something she had taken too well. She complies, in any case.

"There has been...news. The harvest is over; apparently the winter's to be mild this year." Looking at his daughter, Gorlois feels a sudden stab of guilt; he has not visited her since the healers had ordered bed rest. He shakes his head slightly, then clears his throat.

"Morgana, did I ever tell you about my first hunt?" Brows furrowed, Morgana shakes her head. Why now of all times? Gorlois shrugs.

"I was eight; it was foolhardy of me, but I snuck out to follow the men after they had all left for the hunt. Got cornered by a couple of wild dogs- and I nearly didn't make it."

Morgana raises an eyebrow. "Nearly?"

"My best friend came for me as soon as he found out what I'd done. The servants told me that Uther wouldn't rest until I was back in the castle."

Confusion is evident in Morgana's eyes. "Uther...Pendragon? But he would have been around eight years old, too."

Gorlois smiles sadly. "You know that we were once the greatest of friends. There was a time when he wouldn't hesitate to lay down his life for me; and I the same." He leans towards her. "Morgana, true friendship involves absolute trust. It's too rare to let go of."

Morgana can't figure out where this is going. "But you parted ways with him in the end."

"And that is the hardest decision I've ever made in my life. I sometimes wonder…" He shakes his head. "No. I know it was right. Morgana, what King Arthur did for you- he cares for you. You were alone on the quest with him; do you trust him?"

"I…" Images of their quest flash by. Their teamwork. The quiet moments. His frantic look when he saw her injuries. "Yes. I trust him." She frowns as a sudden thought strikes her. "Father, you aren't possibly thinking of having us betrothed-"

Gorlois chuckles. "You may trust him, but that wouldn't stop you from trying to murder him if I did that. I know your temper." He sobers up. "Not long after you were born, your mother had...a moment. Vivenne was like you, but her Sight only came in flashes. But when it did, it was remarkably clear." Morgana starts; her father had _never_ talked about her mother since her death.

"We joked about it a lot; but it was also frightening, because we didn't know when it would come or whether we could control it. After you were born, Vivienne didn't have them any more. And then, in the middle of winter, she did." He fixes his gaze on her.

"She told me that the Pendragon was fated to unite Albion and defeat the White Dragon of the South. I believed her; Uther was a great king, and as we fought battles together, I could almost see Albion being built."

Gorlois stops and exhales. "You now know it was not to be. Uther-he changed. And so I gave up that hope and focused on protecting our family. But Morgana," He looks at her directly.

"I'm starting to believe that her prophecy referred to another Pendragon."

Morgana opens her mouth to speak, but Gorlois shakes his head.

"These are simply my thoughts. Think on them if you will."

She sighs and nods, and he smiles.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I have yet another council meeting. Starting tomorrow, I expect you to come as well."

She beams. Finally she can get back to doing what she needs to do.

.

Morgana massages her temples with the tips of her fingers wearily. It has been two weeks at least since she was allowed to leave her chambers, and the meetings are as tragically dull as ever. Life continues on, but she cannot help but feel apprehensive; Cornwall is near the sea, and there has been suspicious marine movement reported numerous times. There are whisperings of foreigners invading- Rome perhaps, or another. The Council is bickering again.

The Chief of Guards, Marken, pounds his fists on the table yet again. He seems to do it every time he opens his mouth, and Morgana is tired of having to pick up her goblet of water to prevent it from bouncing off the table. He calls out in his rough voice, "We need to build up the army now. It's clear already there's a threat."

The ancient druidic representative sitting across from him shakes his head slowly and gravely, but makes no comment. King Gorlois questions, "How big do you perceive the threat to be?"

Marken shakes his head. "It matters not. We have stood strong against Camelot and Escetia all of these years; we can do so now."

Risbeh, fiddling with her Chief Healer robes, rolls her eyes. She snaps, "And of course taking up a military stance will stand _so_ well with our neighbors."

Marken pounds the table. "They can't be ignorant of the threat- They have to understand."

"You think? You _men_. They'll grab at the chance to attack us first." Risbeh crosses her arms and leans back. Marken glowers, but seems to be restraining himself.

Morgana looks around at the rest of the council. Surely there were other opinions. But the men and women remained shifty-eyed and silent.

She sweeps her hair back. "My lords and ladies, perhaps we should focus on gathering intelligence. Have the scouts-" She is cut off by the great doors being thrown open. Two battered scouts run in.

"My lords, they've landed. Not all of them, I mean, but a little, well, um…" The younger one fumbles over his words. The warrior accompanying him smacks him over his head.

"I'll talk, Rendell." She turns to the assembled council. "We've confirmed extensive Saxon activity in the waters; it's those rotten bastards after all. Little scouting group landed on Cornwall coast, and the patrol managed to fight them off. We've lost three men, but we have a couple of prisoners. Not talking much."

Gorlois's face is positively thunderous. "An attempted landing? This cannot stand. Marken, prepare the army. The rest of you, the support troops. We must be prepared." He addresses the scouts again. "Have the other nations been alerted of this?"

The woman nods. "It was near Escetia's boundaries. Their scouts actually helped us- no one wants Saxons on their soil."

Gorlois nods. "Good. Morgana, ensure that the news is sent to all the nations. They need to be warned." He shakes his head, then looks up. "Now, where are the prisoners being kept? We need to have a talk."

The woman smirks and waits for most of the council to file out. Gorlois motions for them to lead, and Morgana follows, sweeping her dress up to prevent it dragging on the dirty ground. The scouts take them to the dungeons, where two foreign-looking men in curious garb have been chained to the cell. The guards salute them and drag the prisoners out. They take them into the torture chamber; granted, it hasn't been used very often, but it certainly makes an impression. Morgana takes a seat beside her father.

Gorlois leans forward in his chair. "Who are you and why are you here?" The two men, now chained to chairs, look at each other. One garbled out some unintelligible phrases. Gorlois frowns. He repeats the question, this time in Welsh. More garbling.

Morgana presses a finger to her temples. "Father. They don't speak either Cornish or Welsh. It's improbable they speak any of our languages."

Gorlois nods. "Perhaps Latin?"

Morgana asks, "Cur estis hic?" The men shake their heads. Gorlois raises an eyebrow.

"Saxon. These scouts probably only speak Saxon." Morgana shakes her head. "None of us are fluent."

Gorlois sighs. "Morgana." She knows what he will ask. He looks at her. "This is important. I know it's hard, but we need this."

He wouldn't force her to invade someone else's mind willingly unless it was important. It didn't matter that their minds were their last sanctuaries, that she could destroy their minds in the process. For Cornwall, for Cornwall, For Cornwall. There are no ethics in war.

Morgana squeezes her eyes shut. _Just this once_. She opens them and walks up to the men. They blabber on in their language, but she pays them no heed. She places two fingers on the temples of the man on the left.

_Flashes of a foreign land. Mountains, and a chilly breeze. There are thousands of them, decked out in full battle gear. The man's fear is palpable. The commander raises a finger, and he blows the horn. Everyone marches. _

_Ships. A coastline that's not hospitable, and days on days of endless water. A stop, somewhere else; it's tiring, but the island they are to invade is visible on the seas now; the commander drags him into a scouting boat. The army rests. Thirty moons and more will gather. Attack the people, assess the threat. Captured. _

A strange, foreign language is threaded through the man's thoughts- she has no need of it, for she is ripping images and thoughts and innermost secrets directly from their mind. The man's pupils dilate, and he convulses; she feels like throwing up. A vein bursts in her nose and blood drips down; at the same time, blood is trickling out of the man's ears. Distantly, she thinks that his brain has turned on him- been pushed to the breaking point and destroying itself. Dead in a day, maybe less.

Good. One less to kill. There's going to be a war, after all.

She wipes her nose harshly with a sleeve, and turns to her father.

"Saxons. The tribes are gathering on the mainland coast to launch an invasion. A month, maybe two at the most before they come. There are so many of them- and more are to gather."

Gorlois's mouth is set in a grim line. "Do you think it necessary to corroborate the story with the other man?"

Morgana shakes her head. "It's impossible to miss. If you wish, we can dispose of this one quickly. Or would you rather I search him for details?"

Gorlois shakes his head. "I know it takes a toll on you too. You should rest. We'll have a council meeting soon. Clean yourself up." She vaguely notes that she is dripping with sweat, and her sleeve is absolutely ruined by the blood. She nods, and goes to her chambers.

Sarah is arranging the flowers when she strides in. Morgana takes one of them in her hands- then burns it to ash with magic. Sarah stares with something akin to horror in her eyes. Morgana notices, but she doesn't care.

"No more flowers. Don't lay out dresses for me until I say otherwise. I won't tolerate frivolity now."

Sarah nods and backs out slowly. Morgana hears the door slam; knows that her maid will go to gossip with one of her friends about how heartless the princess is. It doesn't matter. There's going to be a war.

Sarah isn't shy at all- Morgana grew up with her, and she knows that as a fact. But she is frightened by her mistress- always has been, since that first hunting trip and she came back splattered in blood. Morgana hasn't done anything to keep their relationship cordial, either. Morgana muses that maybe the reason Sarah is so afraid of nobles and royals is that she thinks they're all like her. She smiles wryly.

She wants to dunk her head in the washbasin left for her, to scrub out all the thoughts and feelings and sights that aren't _hers_, are the property of the man who is now bleeding his brains out in an underground dungeon. But that would mess up her hair, and that was never good. So she wipes it daintily with a towel, then changes out of the pretty dress-it's ruined with the blood, but perhaps she can get Sarah to cut off the sleeves and make a shift out of it or something. Ah well. No dresses in war. She pulls on a sturdy tunic and breeches- Morgause could fight in a dress, but Morgana has never liked getting pretty things dirty, and she's not too adept at it either.

She fights back a yawn- a nap was in order. The servants would wake her for the council meeting.

.

With each passing day, reports of more Saxon activity flood in. Morgana worries; Cornwall is on the coast, and it is small enough to be a prime target for the invaders. They have fought invaders before, but always from the island; never a grand army come to conquer all of Albion.

It has been two days since the Saxon scouts had been taken prisoner. Morgana fiddles with her sword as she looked out of the window. There had to be something, a plan, anything to stop these Saxons from invading Cornwall. She knows what will happen if the Saxons attack- Cornwall will fall like so many ants against a rock. Through the neverending Council meetings, she knows that they are doing all they could, that the neighboring countries are all aware and doing their part, and that if it came down to it, they will not go down without a fight.

Her nightmares show death now, in the battlefield and off. She doesn't bother stifling the screams anymore. The once-vibrant court has been taken apart, and everyone sent off to prepare in anyway they can. The marketplace is eerily quiet now; only dust and abandoned stands populate the once-bustling square. It reminds her of the desolation in her dreams, the field of corpses and the dying, with no one to mourn for them.

She can't sleep now; a voice in her head keeps telling her _you need to find a way to keep Cornwall safe, they need you to do that, and you're their princess. You need to find a way._

There's no way out.

Morgana throws down her sword and rubs her face in irritation. The dark shadows under her eyes are more prominent now; she wishes for _just one hour_ of untainted, dreamless rest. It never happens.

The morning sun is bright, and she grows drowsy. Exhaling, she stretches and tries to wake herself up. She is about to give up and sleep- Father has forbidden her from training with the knights until the healers are certain that her strength has fully returned, and it's true that she's still weak- when there is a knock at the door.

Morgana walks to the door and opens it. Gorlois smiles and steps in. They take their seats around the table. She notices that Gorlois is tense, and his eyes are serious- there is something on his mind. She waits for him to speak first.

Gorlois does not bother with pleasantries, not when it's his daughter. "Morgana. You know that the Saxon threat is overwhelming."

Morgana nods. They all knew. He continues.

"You know that, despite all our efforts, if the Saxons attack us, Cornwall will not last."

Morgana looks up to meet his eyes. "Father. We are all aware of this. But we are willing to fight."

Gorlois shakes his head. "I don't mean that we should surrender. All of us in the council have searched for any way to make our chances of surviving greater. I believe I have the answer."

Morgana quirks an eyebrow. "Why not bring it up at the council then, father? You know I will support you, no matter what it is."

Gorlois looks down. "Morgana, I've talked the council of lords. They agree- the Saxon threat is too great to ignore. Cornwall has stood alone for long enough."

She is confused. "Father, what can we do? We've stood alone because we are a country. There is nothing to do for that."

Gorlois shakes his head. "Cornwall has always had Camelot at its back. I had even once turned it into a duchy under Camelot's reign. Back then, Uther….seemed to be the future. I think now is the time to return."

Morgana gapes in shock. "Father. You want us to be a vassal state to Camelot. How-what- Why not Escetia, if you are so bound on this course? Morgause is Queen; kin is best. Camelot?"

"You know as well as I do that Cenred is not a king to rush to our defense; he will not be a staunch ally. Morgause will try, but her heart is bound. Cenred is a good king, but he is not a man I would like Cornwall to be under." Gorlois looks at her. "I believe Arthur is. But as the next ruler of Cornwall, and as the person who knows Arthur and Camelot best, you should be the one to choose."

Morgana stands up. "Father, I think it would be best… if you let me think about it a little. There's no going back, is there?"

Gorlois nods. "Tell me when you've made your decision." He walks out the door.

Well. This is a way out. Camelot is better equipped- probably because of all the practice they've had killing people in the Great Purge- and she doesn't know how else they can survive. Strategically, it's their best bet at survival.

But the aftermath. Morgana knows a swearing of fealty such as this one can be broken only at great cost. A war, perhaps. Perhaps more. If ever they wished to revert to a kingdom, there would be bloodshed. As there has been already.

But Arthur… for some reason, she doesn't think he will be the kind of person to betray Cornwall. He...he is good. _Good_ in that infinitely vague, noble_, pure _sense, rather than the bloody, tainted kind of good that she fights for. He believes in protecting his people- but he will not use cowardly or traitorous means to achieve that. It's a weakness- she would never have any qualms, just look at Nimue- but it's reassuring. There is no other way to describe it.

He will be a good king. Cornwall would be safe under him. Her heart speeds up- she knows this will be the biggest decision she will ever make in her life- but she thinks maybe it's the right decision. Maybe.

There's no other way, anyhow, and if this lets Cornwall survive, then she'll take it.

She runs out the door to find Gorlois.

.

"Father. Let's pay a formal visit to Camelot. I believe that this is the right choice, but I would like to talk to him a little before we take this step."

* * *

><p><strong>AN I wrote the first half three weeks ago, and I realized that 1. There's very little Arthur in this- I'm very sorry, but this was kind of the essential backgroud/plot-setting/Morgana characterization chapter. Sorry if it's very dull... and 2. That line, 'love is for children' was apparently in the Avengers. I didn't see it until a week ago- I did not expect that. It's a coincidence, for the record!**

**Hope you enjoyed! Reviews make me happy (and write fastish)**

**Estele**


	18. Heart and Soul

The rain has been insistently pounding upon Camelot for days now; Arthur is in his chambers, brooding. It's not something he _enjoys _doing, but it is almost impossible to ignore the dark mood falling upon all of Albion. Cornwall had sent news-the Saxons were poised to attack in less than two weeks. He looks at the map set out. It was clear that the Saxons would target Cornwall, and after it had fallen, march on to either Camelot or Escetia. Assuming Escetia, with Queen Morgause demanding revenge, set out to meet them afterwards, Camelot would have to jump in before the battle came to them. Perhaps while the Saxons were preoccupied; Arthur knows that it is advantageous to attack when the enemy is tired, and keeping the battle away from Camelot is best.

Briefly, Arthur wonders if the Saxons will take prisoners. There were no _ifs_ about the Saxons felling Cornwall; Cornwall is prosperous yet small, and the intelligence had confirmed that the troops brought by the Saxons would be sufficient to match _all_ of Albion, not just a little kingdom by the sea. _Morgana. _She would be leading the army into battle for sure, and it was not likely she would allow herself to escape when it fell. He did not want to imagine what the Saxons would do to fallen princesses. Morgana would still be weak; the last time he had seen her, she was screaming as her life ran out. He had received word that she had survived; but the messenger from Cornwall had been unsatisfactorily brief and all he could think was _at what cost_? Is she still bedridden, or has she returned to normal? He could think of any number of scenarios where Morgana _is alive_ but there's still something wrong. Arthur shakes his head- there must be something wrong with him. He shouldn't think so much about her. Even if he was the one who stabbed her.

In any case, there had been word that a diplomatic retinue from Cornwall would soon visit Camelot. He would be able to ask about her then, so he really should stop brooding and maybe attend to the endless pile of paperwork.

He is just about to read the first petition on his desk when Merlin runs into his chambers. He is more than a little annoyed; Merlin can never _just walk_ into his chambers, he must burst in as if the castle is on fire. This has long since been a daily occurrence, and today it sets him off.

"Well_, Mer_lin, is Camelot being attacked by griffins again? Or perhaps there is an infestation of man-eating rats?"

Merlin shudders, gasping for breath. "Don't even joke about the rats- remember last time?"

Arthur sighs a little. "Then what are you in such a hurry for?"

Merlin shakes his head, dislodging droplets of water from his hair. Arthur realizes that Merlin is soaking wet- he had probably been outside. Merlin exclaims, "The Cornwall delegation's here!"

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "And this has gotten you in such an excitement because?"

Merlin grins. "You need to come out and greet them. You'll see why."

"You do know it's customary for the king to greet all delegations from the throne room, Merlin," Arthur enunciates, as if patronizing him.

Merlin's smile does not fade away. "But this one's special, Arthur. There's someone you've probably _longing _to see, coming through our gates now."

Arthur, in the middle of going back to his reports, freezes. He whips back around and stutters, "You don't mean...she isn't…" He pulls himself together. "_Morgana?_"

Merlin's grin becomes downright smug. "Well, you'll have to go down and look, won't you?"

Arthur starts moving towards the door even before the sorcerer finishes speaking. Merlin shouts, "Don't forget your crown! Shouldn't you receive them formally, with a retinue?" The door slams in reply. Merlin sighs and jogs to catch up, picking up Arthur's crown. He really needed to be paid more.

Arthur strides through the hall, ignoring the mystified glances sent his way. Merlin probably had been joking; she couldn't be here, she would be in Cornwall recovering, and the only reason he was rushing to receive them was because it was raining and he just wanted to make sure the Cornwall delegation arrived safely. That was the only reason. Really.

Except it really isn't.

"Arthur!"

Merlin catches up to him, huffing as if he has been running the whole way. Which he has done. Though Arthur still retains enough dignity to stop himself from running, Merlin has no such thing stopping him. He forces Arthur to stop, then thrusts the crown at him.

"Arthur, you forgot this. Remember propriety? "

Arthur grudgingly jams it on his head and waves some random knights over to form a makeshift retinue behind him. "Hurry up, then," he growls.

The group walks out the main door and down the staircase into the courtyard, disregarding the pouring rain. More people have joined them as they walked purposefully down, and the random courtiers spread to show a semblance of dignity. Arthur peers forward through the rain, frowning.

The Cornwall standard is sopping wet, but it is still distinctly visible as it travels through the town. Cornwall's delegation comes through the citadel gates slowly, and Arthur can make out the shape of a man at the forefront, where the head of the delegations always ride. _Not Morgana then._ He bites back his disappointment and waits. Might as well greet them, since he's already out in the rain.

.

As the delegation rides closer and closer to them, they grow more distinguishable from each other. When they are only a few feet away from Arthur and his hastily-pulled-together retinue, the head of delegation dismounts, followed by everyone else but one. The head of delegation steps forward, and Arthur realizes with a jolt who he is-King Gorlois.

But how? He has always sent Morgana in his place; never had he felt the need to visit Camelot in person. There was something underfoot.

Gorlois steps to the only person still on the horse. It is clear she is a woman, and as Gorlois carefully helps her down, Arthur's stomach flips. There is only one person who the king himself would help down. But her face is still obscured by the hood of her dripping green cloak.

After making sure that the woman is steady on her feet, Gorlois crosses the distance to come face to face with Arthur. By this time, everyone is soaked through, and Arthur wipes the rain on his face with one hand surreptitiously before he clasps arms with Gorlois in a gesture of solidarity. They run through the customary pleasantries- 'I hope your journey has been pleasant', 'I hope Camelot is faring well', but Arthur is a little preoccupied. Gorlois pretends not to notice, but he extends a hand to the woman who has been standing a little behind him. She takes his hand and steps towards them both. Letting go of Gorlois's hand, she carefully slides back the hood. Dark curls and vibrant green eyes show themselves. Morgana smiles slightly as she dips a curtsey.

Arthur is caught up in a sudden fiery happiness. _She's here_. Morgana looks drawn, too pale, but she is very much the Morgana who set off on the quest with him. Not the screaming, barely conscious Morgana who he had last seen, right before he had left for Camelot. He drinks in the sight of her, searching for any traces of illness. She is not deathly skeletal anymore, but the way she holds herself belies a certain fragility that had not been there before. The rain continues on, and soon her hair is wet, just like his. She smiles. "Missed me, your highness?"

His heart skips a bit at that all-too-familiar tone. He breaks out into a wide grin. "Only if you did, Princess Morgana."

She laughs a little at that. He stares at her- she looks far from perfect, with her windswept and drenched hair and little color, and it is both cliché and untruthful to say he was lost in her eyes. But his gaze can't help but be drawn to her, and he can't stop. A part of him is worried that if he looks away, she'll disappear.

She notices, and shifts when he stays silent a little too long. Gorlois clears his throat. Arthur snaps out of the little reverie, and then he notices that Morgana is trembling slightly_. She's cold_.

Arthur announces, "Let us save our greetings until our esteemed guests have been installed in their chambers. I'm sure the journey must have been tiring, especially in this weather."

Gorlois nods at this. "Thank you, King Arthur. Your hospitality is most welcome to us."

The two groups merge and walk together into the castle, Arthur and Gorlois at the head. Morgana walks a little behind, as befits her status. As they walk, Gorlois whispers to Arthur, "King Arthur, would it be possible to summon a healer? I'm afraid my daughter…" Morgana cuts in, shooting Gorlois a look. "is perfectly fine. There's no need. It's good to see you, Arthur."

Arthur looks back at her. "And you. I'm...glad you're alright." He turns to Gorlois. "I'll send a healer to her chambers as soon as she is settled in."

Morgana glares. "Arthur! " Both kings ignore her. Gorlois nods gratefully to Arthur. "Thank you."

. 

Arthur sits at the throne as everyone leaves the spacious throne rooms. The court has formally welcomed Cornwall's King and his retinue, and now all are dispersing to prepare for the welcoming feast. Usually, he is the first to leave, but today he has decided to dismiss everyone first. It's _not_ because he thinks it'll be easier to find Morgana that way.

It seems Morgana's had the same idea, because when the hall is empty, she is the only one left. Her ornate green dress is all the more vibrant against the gray and white and the red of the throne room, and she looks almost healthy. Arthur gets up and walks down the dais. Morgana is still standing there, cocking her head and a small smile playing around her lips.

Arthur speaks first. "Well, you look less like a drowned rat now. Is Camelot agreeing with you?" He thinks she looks radiant, but he's not going to tell her that. Her vanity rivals even his ego.

"Well enough. I'm glad that crown of yours still fits your head," Morgana smirks. For some reason, it doesn't bother him as it would usually. He looks her over. "Are you...all right? I heard you turned away the healer…"

Morgana's eyes flash. "Of course I am. And I have yet to get you back for ignoring me and sending him."

Arthur's voice is suddenly serious. "You should have let him make sure you're all right. It was raining when you came; are you sure you're not cold or anything?"

Morgana rolls her eyes. "Please, Arthur. I had blood poisoning, not the plague. I'm not a delicate china doll to be fussed over."

He shakes his head. "You need to take better care of yourself. No more self-sacrificing gambles. Promise me."

She quirks a smile. "It was my choice, Arthur. And what are you going to do if I don't promise? Lock me up?"

"I…" Arthur is hesitant. "I can't let you do that. I keep seeing you dying and it's _all my fault…_"

Morgana walks closer. "Don't, Arthur. It's not. I made you do that, remember? You didn't know."

Arthur sighs and takes a step towards her. He shakes his head a little. He is facing Morgana directly now; he can smell the scent of her perfume. He decides to drop the conversation for now.

"Well, my lady. Is there anything you came to see me for?"

A brief silence. She's fiddling with the hems of her sleeves; a nervous habit. Arthur raises an eyebrow. She exhales.

"Arthur. I never had a chance to thank you for saving my life. I..don't know how to repay you." He looks at her, and her fingers fidget more rapidly. "I would have said this earlier, in Cornwall, if I hadn't been...indisposed. Thank you. If there's anything I can do..."

Arthur reaches out and takes one of her pale, callused hands. He slowly kisses it, giving her time to pull away if she wants. She lets him, color blossoming on her cheeks. He clears his throat.

"Morgana, there's nothing to repay. I would have done it...anyways. And you did save my life multiple times." _and it was my fault you nearly died._

She lowers her gaze, a trifle shyly. He's reminded of the time they curled up on the same cloak in the Isles of the Blessed, right before everything spiraled out of control. He's about to say something- anything really- when Morgana looks back up.

"Arthur. I need you to answer me truthfully. Please." He nods his head confusedly, but she seems to accept it. She asks, "If we had been in the same situation, and you knew that going on the quest to get the flower would lead to the certain destruction of Camelot, would you have gone?" Her voice is suddenly grave, and he meets her eyes quizzically. _What did she want to hear and why was she asking this?_ He decides to be truthful.

"No. I'm sorry, Morgana. But Camelot and my people come first."

Morgana nods. She seems oddly satisfied. Arthur frowns a little_. Don't women usually like to be told that they come first_? Guinevere always wanted to hear that, at least. Something was wrong here. He opens his mouth- but is cut off again by her voice.

"What if there was a... noble... who wanted to come under the protection of Camelot, and merge his estates. How would you rule over the newly acquired lands? Would you sacrifice as much for it?"

Arthur is put off guard. _A regular question and answer session. Where is she finding all these questions?_ He ruffles his bangs with his hands. A silence fills the air, but Morgana seems to be intent on waiting for his answer. When he has sorted his thoughts a little, he haltingly voices them.

"I… would welcome him as a full noble of Camelot. If he wishes to come under our protection...then I am bound by my honor to uphold their rights and privileges. I would have to protect the new lands as if they had always been Camelot's. The noble...would probably be allowed to retain his place, but Camelot would fight for them in the case of an...invasion, or a war. "

Morgana's brows crease slightly. "What about the people, Arthur Pendragon? You speak of nobles and the land, but what of the common people who live there?"

Arthur looks at her. "They are my people, and on my honor, I would defend them to the last." He breaks off. "Morgana, there's something you're not telling me."

She ignores his half-question of a remark. "Arthur, what is the true duty of a king?"

Arthur meets her gaze squarely. She doesn't look away. "Answer me." Her voice is a whisper.

His voice is quiet. "To protect his people. To ensure that the kingdom is prosperous, and that its inhabitants can live in safety and comfort. To uphold justice and peace. To defend the ideals of chivalry and knighthood with honor." He takes a breath. "To give his all for his people."

She watches him a while longer. He feels as if he has been tested, and he does not know if he has passed. Her face is impassive. She bites her lip, then speaks again.

"What...is your stance on magical people? Druids, priestesses, magicians. What place do these people have in Camelot?"

Arthur's gaze intensifies. "I'm not my father, Morgana."

"I know." She swallows. "I still need your answer."

"They are my people, as are non-magical people. They are free to live in Camelot in peace, and never will they be subjugated to horrors as they were in my father's time. They are welcome in Camelot." His gaze sharpens. "Morgana, why are you asking me these things?"

She ignores the question. Still meeting his eyes, she curtsies, deeper than she has ever before.

"Thank you, your highness."

She turns and walks out. Arthur stares at her retreating back, as confused as ever.

.

That confused feeling stays with him as he goes through the day, and even as he sits in the Royal table with Gorlois at the feast. Morgana sits to Gorlois's left; she talks little, only whispering occasionally to her father. He guesses that Morgana has already spoken about her little questioning session with Gorlois. Gorlois looks at Arthur several times as a piercing gaze, scrutinizing him. It's almost as if Gorlois is examining him as a suitor for Morgana.

Except he hadn't asked for her hand in marriage yet.

He shakes his head. No 'yets'. He wouldn't ask for her hand. Mostly, he was getting a little frustrated because he still could not figure out what was going on.

Morgana nods again to Gorlois, and the king turns to Arthur.

"King Arthur, the delegation of Cornwall would like to request a formal audience when you hold court tomorrow."

Arthur's brows crease slightly, but he nods. "It shall be done." He notices that Morgana has touched little on her plate. The last times she was here, she ate heartily. The feast contained some of her favorite dishes_; he _hadn't requested it specially to the cook, but they was definitely there. Yet Morgana was fiddling around with a few grains of rice and sipping at her goblet_-_ water, he notices. Not wine.

"Princess Morgana, is the food to your liking?" He directs the question at Morgana, hoping that she'd at least glance at him. She seems startled, gaze flying up to his face before she lowers her eyes again.

"It's excellent as ever, your highness." She smiles slightly. "Please, don't mind me."

He raises an eyebrow, but she returns to picking at her rice. When the dancing starts and her absence would not be prominently noticed, she excuses herself to her chambers. She leaves in a rustle of russet skirts.

Gorlois whispers to Arthur, "I'm afraid Morgana has not fully recovered yet. The healers at Cornwall were horrified when she made the decision to make the journey to Camelot."

Arthur nods. He considers visiting her chambers after the feast has wound down, but stops himself. She would most likely be resting, and it would go against court etiquette.

He stays through the rest of the feast in a state of nervous boredom. When finally he declares the end of the feast, all he wants to do is go to his chambers and sleep for a day. But he has to organize court for tomorrow; a formal audience meant scribes, the assemblage of nobles and the council of lords. He sighs as he looks for Merlin.

Sleep would have to wait.

.

Arthur is visibly tense when he prepares for court that day. He snaps, "Can't you go any faster, _Mer_lin?" when the sorcerer walks in with his best crown. Merlin isn't his manservant, but he does the duties nonetheless. Merlin always mutters something about old habits dying hard. He's glad, in any case- he does not trust anyone quite as much as he does Merlin.

But sometimes, he's singularly clumsy. Arthur sighs as Merlin trips over the long red cape for the umpteenth time. His jacket is his finest red, and the shirt under it is good linen as well. Arthur would very much prefer wearing armor, but it was decided that that would be inappropriate in a peacetime assembly. Discarded clothes litter the floor of his chambers, and he fiddles with the hem of his cape as the crown is placed on his head. He puts on the sword belt himself; peacetime or not, the sword stays with him. It's reassuring, in a way. (Merlin secretly refers to it as his security blanket.) When Merlin nods, he strides out of the chambers. The retinue, not so hastily put together this time, is already waiting in the throne room. In any other audience, he would be seated on his throne. But for this, a formal audience against another king of equal rank, etiquette demanded that he stand and meet him halfway. With his knights and courtiers spread in a V behind him, he awaits the Cornwall delegation.

He doesn't wait long. Soon, the great gates are opened by two pages, and the delegation strides through. Gorlois walks at its head, Morgana at his right as always. There is an unusually grave expression etched on his face. They stop when the two kings are facing each other.

Arthur clasps arms with Gorlois again. In a confident voice, Arthur starts, "I hope you are comfortably installed, King Gorlois." Gorlois nods and replies, "Camelot has been most hospitable." He looks around at the assembled court. "Cornwall appreciates the formal audience that has been granted to it. As all those here has heard, the Saxon threat is soon upon us. It casts its dark shadow over all of Albion." The older king takes a breath, steeling himself for something- Arthur doesn't know what. The entire hall is silent.

Gorlois falls to one knee. People gasp; it is unheard of for a king to bow before another. A breath, and then Morgana kneels, violet silk fanning out, followed by the entire retinue. Arthur stares at them, caught by surprise.

Gorlois raises his voice, "Cornwall submits itself as a vassal dukedom under Camelot. In life and death, all Cornwall offers allegiance to you. King Arthur, we swear fealty to you and your kingdom." He pulls out his sword and holds it upright in front of him, point facing down and touching the ground. All of the knights follow suit. Their voices echo as one, "We swear fealty to you and your kingdom."

In that moment, thoughts run through his mind like water in a bubbling brook_. _Arthur can choose to decline this offer, but he knows that doing so would be foolish. Cornwall is prosperous, their lands would enrich all of Camelot, and trade would flourish. A coastal border, Cornwall's water-based resources would help Camelot, and the Saxon threat would be significantly less overwhelming if they banded together. He realizes this must be the reason for Cornwall's sudden decision- they know as well as anyone that alone, they have no chance of survival. But this? This is a monumental decision.

_ Allegiance_. Cornwall wishes to come under Camelot as a dukedom- he remembers that Gorlois had already done this once, given his entire trust and kingdom to his friend, Uther. And now he has done the same for Uther's son. His gaze shifts from Gorlois to Morgana. Her vivid eyes are lowered, but her expression is confident and serene.

The realization hits him with a jolt. It isn't Gorlois giving his kingdom to him after all- it's Morgana. It's Morgana who's made the decision. She's entrusting her home and future to him; Cornwall is as important to Morgana as Camelot is to him, and she takes the duties just as seriously_. She_ is the one handing him her life and kingdom with this one stroke.

.

_"Would you have gone?" "How would you rule over the newly acquired lands?"_ _"what of the common people?"_

_"Arthur, what is the true duty of a king?"_

_ Answer me._

.

She raises her eyes to meet his gaze. Vibrant green meets azure blue, and Arthur feels suddenly short of breath. It is Morgana who speaks the next part of the vow, eyes on him the whole time.

"We offer our loyalty in life and death. In battle and peace, our faith and our strength." She takes a breath. "We offer you our heart and soul. All Cornwall, united in this."

_We offer you our heart and soul._

Arthur finally tears his eyes away from her to look at the entire delegation. None of them are surprised or disgruntled; Arthur realizes that this is the reason Gorlois himself came, and that this course of action must have been decided long before they arrived. Morgana's questions make sense now.

_We offer you our heart and soul._

Arthur slowly walks forward. He raises his voice. "I, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, accept Cornwall's allegiance gladly. We offer our protection, as Cornwall offers loyalty, and under faith, we are one."

He looks at Morgana. "Rise, Duke Gorlois of Cornwall. Lady Morgana. Camelot recognizes you as its loyal subjects."

Arthur raises Gorlois up, and the delegation rises. Morgana gets to her feet gracefully. She and the other ladies curtsey as the men bow. _Lady_ Morgana now. It didn't matter much; he calls her Morgana anyways. She raises an eyebrow.

The rest of the assembly goes by in a blur- the signing of the traditional documents, most of which have already been prepared by Cornwall; the reports on Cornwall's current system and how it is to be integrated into Camelot's system; the technicalities.

It is finalized as the sun goes down, and court is finally adjourned. Arthur declares a celebratory feast for the next day. When he looks for Morgana, she has already disappeared.

.

The feast is in full swing, and Morgana is nowhere to be seen. She had been sitting in the seat of honor along with her father during the dinner, but Arthur had been distracted by Gorlois's conversation to track her movements. When Gorlois had excused himself to acquaint himself with other nobles of Camelot, Morgana had disappeared once more. He ruffles his hair in frustration. He has not spoken to her privately since that queer conversation, and has not even heard her voice since the oath.

_We offer you our heart and soul._

The way she looked as she intoned the oath, with her eyes solemn and intense, is difficult to pull from his mind. It has been a day and half, yet he had not met her in all but the most public functions. She is striking enough that it shouldn't be hard to find her in a crowd, but he looks in vain. He begins to suspect that she is avoiding him; for what reason, he does not know. He sighs and walks to the edge of the dancers; there are things he wants to ask her, but they would have to wait.

Merlin appears and taps him on the shoulder. Arthur raises an eyebrow. A cheesy grin on his face, Merlin asks, "Are you looking for someone, Arthur?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Nobody you should be concerned about."

"Oh, really?" Merlin grins, "then I guess I'll go dance with her instead."

"_Mer_lin, what are you blabbering about?" Arthur yells, but the sorcerer has already slipped from sight. He grunts and turns his gaze to the dance floor.

He is watching the dancers sway in rhythm to a waltz when he catches a glimpse of that ridiculous red neckerchief that Merlin insists on wearing. He turns.

Merlin is dancing with a dark-haired woman with her back to Arthur- he has a feeling it's Morgana, but there are a number of ladies with jet black hair in both Camelot and the Cornwall delegation. So he casually walks closer to where Merlin and the lady are turning in a circle. Definitely Morgana.

She is talking to Merlin, and Arthur decides to listen in a bit. It isn't _eavesdropping_ because it's his castle and kings don't do things like that. But he pretends to be engrossed in watching the dancers as he strains to hear their conversation.

"...sure about that?" Merlin's voice. Their lowered voices were difficult to hear over the music.

"Would I have sworn fealty if I wasn't?" Morgana's reply is a little amused.

"King Prathead thinks…" Some words are swallowed by the noise "….from him, and he isn't happy."

"But Master Emrys, I'm not avoiding him. I'm simply…" They move away. Arthur growls a little. He decides to just confront her straight off.

As the melody of the waltz dies out, Arthur stalks over to where Merlin is bowing to Morgana. "...been a pleasure," Arthur hears Morgana say, and that's all he needs before he grabs her wrist. She looks at him in surprise. "Your highness." Her brows furrow a little. "If I may have my wrist back…"

Arthur snaps, "We need to talk." Without waiting for Morgana's reply, he leads her out of the dance floor. She makes a half-hearted reply to shake his grip off, but she is either still too weak to break it or too annoyed, and he lets her go when they have reached one of the outer chambers.

Morgana curtsies. "King Arthur." She cocks her head. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Arthur glares at her. "Don't pull that act with me, Morgana. Why have you been avoiding me?"

She frowns. "I haven't been...avoiding you. I've been preparing for our return back to Cornwall. A dukedom we may be, but there is still work to do. Father cannot vacate Cornwall long."

Oh. Oops.

Arthur watches, a trifle embarrassed, as Morgana straightens her dress out. She looks at him.

"Was that what you dragged me out here for, King Arthur? I must say I expected a better reason for this, your highness."

_Your Highness. _He frowns. "Not again, Morgana. We've been through this. It's just Arthur, remember?"

Morgana lowers her eyes. "It's different now. I'm your subject, and it's improper for a noble to refer to her liege like that."

Arthur slips a hand under her chin and tilts her head up so she faces him. "Morgana, don't. I think...you're entitled to call me by my name, after...after what we've been through." It comes out much more awkward than he wishes, and he trips over his words. His face flushes, and he lets her go. She looks away, then bites her lip.

"If you'll excuse me, I'd like to return to my chambers to pack. Father has informed me that he would like to return by the morrow. I'm sure he will ask for your pardon soon, your highne...Arthur."

He ruffles his hair. He had not expected this...awkwardness...when he accepted Cornwall's fealty. Morgana had never been anything but his equal, and he doesn't like this new, subservient Morgana. He frowns as he replays what she has said. 'Leaving by the morrow.' He isn't happy with it, but he cannot force her to stay. Especially since…

Morgana sways just a little, and Arthur steadies her by her arms. She blinks. "I must have had too much wine."

He snorts. "You haven't drunk any wine since you've got here." She raises an eyebrow, and he shrugs defensively. "I noticed."

Both her eyebrows are raised now. "You've been keeping an eye on me."

Arthur flushes. "I can't help it, can I? Not when you're so reckless with your life."

Morgana glares. "Me? Reckless? You're the one who goes off on quests to practically unmapped regions."

Arthur is about to retort when Gorlois suddenly appears. He bites it back and nods. "Duke Gorlois."

Gorlois smiles. "King Arthur. It's good to know that Cornwall will be under your protection. An old man like myself has too many worries to lead alone." Morgana schools her features into a blank mask. Arthur cannot do the same. Thankfully, Gorlois does not notice as he continues talking.

"My Morgana may have mentioned to you, but I'm afraid we must leave for Cornwall soon. If you allow it, I would like to leave tomorrow. The preparations are nearly ready, I believe." Morgana nods.

"I…" He glances at Morgana, "Of course you must attend to Cornwall first. I wish you a swift journey." Father and daughter nods, and turn to leave. The next words are blurted out in a rush.

"I'd like to invite Lady Morgana to a season at court."

The two turn back. Morgana stares at him with an expression that clearly says, 'what are you even thinking?' and Gorlois is bemused. The duke slowly says, "That decision is for Morgana alone, but I think she would better serve in Cornwall, preparing for the Saxons. Social seasons can wait, I believe."

Arthur hurriedly adds on, "Not for the social reasons, I mean, but as a… as a member of my Council of Lords. She has been invaluable in the quest, and I...believe she would be a welcome addition to my counsel." She is still staring at him, but more in surprise than annoyance. Gorlois is similarly surprised. Arthur cannot help but add on, "The winter is fast approaching, and I also worry that the return trip to Cornwall will be too taxing for a delicate lady such as herself."

Morgana is openly seething, but Gorlois nods. "Morgana would also be able to better coordinate Cornwall's efforts in your council. If Morgana agrees?"

Morgana forces a sickly sweet smile on her face. "If you wish it, father."

Arthur makes no effort to hide his grin. Gorlois bows again and leaves. As soon as her father disappears around the corner, Morgana turns on Arthur. "A delicate lady such as myself?" Her fingers fiddle at her skirts, and suddenly there is a glinting dagger in her hands. "For your safety, Arthur, I suggest you don't call me that ever again."

Arthur bows. "If my lady wishes."

Morgana slides the dagger back wherever it came from, and sighs. "I am not an invalid, Arthur. I wish you wouldn't treat me like one."

Arthur offers an arm. "Shall we return to the ballroom, my lady?"

She smiles wryly. "Of course, my lord." She lays her fingers delicately on his arm and let him lead her back into the hall.

.

Arthur sits at the table, conferring with his Council of Lords. The predicted date for the Saxon landing on Cornwall coasts has arrived and passed without incident, and they are beginning to wonder if they should pull back the armies. There is an empty seat at the table- Morgana's. The lords mutter a little about ladies and their delicate nature, but it is halfhearted.

They are just about to make a decision when Morgana bursts in. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"Been taking lessons from Merlin, have you?"

Morgana disregards him and turns to the other lords in the council. "My lords, there has been new intelligence from Cornwall."

The lords titter again. Arthur motions for her to go on.

"The Saxons have turned back. One of their scouts were sighted along the coastline, but the fleet of ships have been seen to be sailing back."

Arthur looks at her. "Have they given up the invasion?"

She shakes her head. "My guess is that they have heard of Cornwall's swearing of fealty to Camelot. They were not prepared to fight both Camelot and Cornwall together. I am certain they will be back."

One of the lords shakes his head. "Perhaps they are too frightened to muster up another invasion. This is wonderful news!"

Another lord nods his head vigorously. "He's right. The threat is gone- it will take months for them to return. Indeed, this is news for celebration!"

Arthur stands up. "My lords, you are excused. Spread the news."

The men file out, leaving only Arthur standing at the table. Morgana walks to him.

"You don't think they're gone," she states. He shakes his head. She looks up and meets his eyes.

.

"You're right. They'll be back- and it'll be all out war this time."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First of all, I'd like to thank all reviewers! As for Christina-Potter's request, that would be really romantic, but the Morgana in my head would probably assassinate him right after he ordered that. Which wouldn't be too good for either of them. **

**Please review if you liked the chapter-I wrote it fast especially for you!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Estele**


	19. A Stormy Interlude

Like the eerie calm in the aftermath of a cyclone, Camelot is quiet as it digests the fact that the Saxons are gone. It has been a looming threat in the distance, coming ever closer and manifesting itself in tensions and rations, and the preparations of the army. Now the cloud is lifted, and life is slowly returning to both the common people and the court of Camelot.

Arthur does not fully believe that they are gone for good-Morgana's warning echoes in his ears whenever the nobles' hopeful exuberance starts to infect him as well. He continues preparations for meeting a Saxon invasion, but slowly the routine peace gets to him. The delayed Winter social season has come into full swing, and that means tournaments and balls, all to provide nobles with opportunities to negotiate marriages and such. Arthur has never paid much attention; Guinevere usually took care of these things, and the winter after she left, it wasn't a good year for extravagance. He supposes that he should be thankful for the peace that allows this little respite, but this year, he almost wishes for an excuse to postpone it again.

One thing he had not even considered when inviting Morgana to stay at Camelot was how _eligible_ she would be as a match for nobles. He realizes that her lowered status as a lady as opposed to Crown Princess would make it much easier for her to marry- indeed, that it would be a desirable option. He suspects Gorlois has already talked about this with her, because she does not even blink an eye at the sudden influx of marriage requests that has beset her. She even seems to revel in it. A part of him whispers that it's only because of her amazingly large dowry; but he knows that she is what other people consider a good catch. As if she was some game to be caught.

It wouldn't bother him so much if only they didn't rub it in his face.

It is a typical midday meal, in state with nobles. Arthur is halfway through his meat when a young noble comes up to the royal table.

"My lady Morgana, it is a beautiful day today- though all pales before your charm."

Morgana giggles and smiles. "You flatter me." She is eating at the head table to the left of Arthur; though she is now a duchess rather than the crown princess of a kingdom, she is by far the highest ranking of the ladies of Camelot. With the seat on his council, most of the work of the first lady of Camelot has been dumped on her. She's used to it from her work in Cornwall, and he finds that he can actually breathe sometimes now. He's considering giving the title to her officially, even if that complicates matters when he gets married. Perhaps on a day when she's less annoying.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Lord Clesek, is there a specific reason for approaching the royal table?

Clesek bows. "Yes, Sire. I would like to invite Lady Morgana on a picnic outside. There is no reason to stay cooped up when the sun is shining and we have a respite from the cold."

Arthur twitches as Lord Clesek takes Morgana's hand in a much too intimate manner. He twitches again when the man leads her out, laughing. He can see them heading out to the gardens; he allows himself a grim smile. The garden has been 'prepared' for them by Merlin, at his express orders. Let's see how the handsome Lord Clesek looks drenched in pond water.

.

As he expected, Morgana storms in drenched with water a little while later. She is furious.

"Arthur, this is your doing!"

Arthur keeps a serious front. "What are you blathering on about?"

"The garden!"

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I order the gardens to be maintained. Is that what upsets you?"

Morgana seethes. "It's the fact that you made Merlin booby-trap the entire gardens! Lord Clesek was so embarrassed he couldn't even speak!"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Don't pretend you're annoyed at that- you know he was going to propose marriage, just like all the others."

Morgana deflates slightly. "That's none of your business."

"Don't tell me you actually want that. He's an idiot!"

"He's charming, and doesn't have a bloated ego, and don't you dare tell me what I want and don't want," Morgana grits out.

In exasperation, Arthur raises his voice. "I'm not telling you that, I _know_ you don't want to be stuck with him."

"He's a proper gentleman."

"That doesn't change the fact that he's utterly idiotic. You'd kill him before a month was up," Arthur retorts.

"I'm halfway about to kill you now. You have no business sticking your nose into my marital prospects."

"I do when I get a petition a day begging for your hand."

"Oh? And how come I haven't seen them?" Morgana is genuinely puzzled.

Arthur grins. "They're not even worth looking at, but they're made of paper. Mustn't waste good kindling."

Morgana's hand strays to her leg, where he knows a dagger is cleverly hidden. "How dare you!"

He smirks. "Remember Morgana, I'm your sovereign now. It's treason to attack your king."

She has lost. "I'm starting to regret ever doing that. I'd actually prefer fighting the Saxons alone. "

His grin widens. "The same to you." He pauses. "You don't really want to marry any of them."

Morgana sighs and looks out the window. "I have to, now."

"You'd have to give up your freedom. Can't imagine you being a good housewife. You'd be horrible."

"And yet it's my duty. You have yours, Arthur, and I have mine."

"Nobody's forcing you."

Morgana turns sharply from the window. "Have you _seen_ any unmarried noblewomen as old as me? I'm old, King Arthur. My father needs an heir," she snaps, "And it's not like I have a choice." She storms out of the room.

Arthur blinks. Then he shouts after her, "Don't forget the council meeting today!"

The only reply is a cry of frustration echoing back to him.

.

Arthur dismisses his council after a particularly tedious meeting on the state of supplies for the hypothetical Saxon attacks. There has been little progress, and he is frustrated by how the councilors have made it their personal mission to disagree with each other no matter what. When he opens the door, he is surprised to find Morgana's maid hovering outside.

"Sarah. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, milord, I… I didn't mean to listen, but I didn't know whether I was allowed to come in, so I…"

He does not have the patience to calm the fluttery maid down. "Did you have a message for me?"

She nods, "Oh yes, I… I was supposed to tell you before the meeting started, but I ran into somebody and when I got here it had already started, so I didn't know what to do. My mistress wasn't feeling very well, and she asked to be excused from this meeting, but it's all over, so I hope you don't mind…" She wrings her hand, stepping aside to let Arthur past.

"That's alright, Sarah. I suppose she's not coming down for dinner?"

She nods again, and runs off. He ruffles his hair once and makes his way to the dining hall. _Well, at least dinner's going to be peaceful today_.

How wrong he is.

The meal itself is nothing special- just the regular bread and freshly-slaughtered meat that has been prepared by cooks for the nobles in court. The meat is not usually so abundant, but during the open social season, Arthur has to keep up the appearance of power and wealth to the attendant nobles. He inwardly grimaces at the toll this particular season would take on the grain stores.

But no, there's nothing innately _wrong_ with the meal itself; in fact, he's completely fine with it.

It's just the nobles that are getting on his nerves today.

_Yes, _he knows there's a tournament scheduled for tomorrow, both to give the restless men something to do and to reassure the people of Camelot's might in the wake of the Saxon threat. _Yes,_ he understands that it is something that excites the entire populace, and that it's natural for them to be talking about it. Knights bragged, others placed bets, and the ladies tittered amongst themselves. Facts of life. He takes a couple of deep breaths.

But did they have to place so much emphasis on the winner getting to escort Morgana to the feast?

He's not jealous-of course not. He'd rather dance with Merlin than have to endure Morgana for the entire feast. Not so very long ago, he would have been more than glad to have her by his side for the evening. But then, she hadn't yet become so _different _then. He could not in all honesty consider himself to know Morgana extremely well, but he knew enough to be comfortable around her. Enough to do the things required. The negotiations, the letters, the quest, the illness. She'd been _stoic_, almost, dependable and almost as committed to her people as he was to his. Wry wit and flashing eyes- laughter very rare. Excepting the part where she slaughters people, or reverts to a completely different version of herself. And he is alright with that duality, more or less.

The Morgana who resides in the northern tower now is far too free with her laughter. She smiles and even flouts duty sometimes, flirting and weaving her way around the social circles. Not Princess of Cornwall, not plain Morgana. Lady Morgana is a strange creature that keeps him on edge. He almost prefers it back when everything was simple and they were trying to kill each other. At least there was nothing messy there, except for maybe the blood.

Arthur sighs, shaking his head to erase his thoughts of Morgana. It isn't as if he even has a chance at escorting her to the feast- it's reserved for the champion of the tournament and he isn't competing. He knows he can wipe the floor with all of the competitors, but he's king and it would be just plain silly to risk his life in one now. Accidents happen. Tournaments were a good way to establish his military prowess back when he was a prince, but it isn't worth risking the lack of a successor anymore.

Maybe he should have decided on a different 'prize'. It was tradition that a lady be involved as a reward for these kinds of tournaments, and Morgana had been the best choice; her high rank and wealth means that no potential champion would be offended by being her escort, and her beauty makes her a good choice in any case. The council had suggested it and he had agreed; Morgana hadn't. He thanks whatever that was out there watching out for him that Morgana is still too weak to wield a sword- she had been vehement in her refusal, and he isn't sure that he would still be alive if he had ordered her to do this when she is capable of dueling with him.

But now that he thinks about it, listening to Morgana might have been better for his sanity.

"Looks like Lancelot's finally coming to town."

Arthur looks up at that sentence. A group of knights sitting lower down is animatedly exchanging news, and the words are carried clearly to him. Lancelot. They hadn't parted too well, though the animosity hadn't been openly displayed. It couldn't be helped. Lancelot had been helplessly in love with Guinevere, and he didn't blame the man for feeling that his once-betrothed was wronged. He pretends not to be listening. The man takes a gulp of mead and continues on.

"Him and that lady of his. Guit-Guis-Guinevere, right that. Don't know really," he shrugs, "But I'd be concerned about how our king takes it. Weren't they betrothed or something?"

Lord Clesek, who'd cleaned himself up and showed no signs of having been pranked by Merlin's booby traps, chuckles. "I only heard they were in love. Quite the looker, they say she is."

The first man- the name was evasive, but Arthur remembered he was a visiting knight from the country- raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't betrothed sort of automatically assume the love part?"

Clesek pats the man's back condescendingly. "Not anymore, my friend. These days, you have marriages galore for every reason under the sun."

The tone is smarmy, and Arthur wishes he could teach Clesek a lesson. But he continues working at his plate, straining to hear more of the news. Merlin informs him of most court news, but it is always edited. He hadn't had conversations like the ones that the knights were having since he was a prince, serving with the knights. There are always things Merlin leaves out.

The first man gulps down more mead, and Arthur thinks that maybe he shouldn't serve mead for normal meals. The man's face is almost cherry red as he retorts, "What happened to chivalry, then? I wouldn't want to be King Arthur, now. Imagine if my lady ran off with some random knight."

Sir Leon, faithful as always, cuts in. "Arthur isn't so petty as to keep a grudge. Our king isn't the type to fight over women."

"True that. Arthur's noble as they come," Gwaine slurs, stumbling to their table. He downs some more mead. "But you know what, fellows? I gotta lady worth fighting over like that."

Clesek raises his eyebrows. "Alissa, the bar maid? I don't think so."

"Hey, now, that was-" Gwaine blinks. "never. That didn't happen. It was that other one, and she was ages ago. Nah, I got one better. Guess who honored me by bestowing her token to me today?"

Arthur raises an eyebrow to himself- Gwaine is already infamous among the ladies, and the man usually has short patience for court customs like that. It's unusual that he be so proud of a new conquest.

The knights throw out half-hearted guesses, but Gwaine chuckles and runs a hand through that ridiculously perfect hair of his. He smiles, almost shyly. " 'ts Lady Morgana."

Arthur chokes on the last morsel of meat, and surreptitiously coughs it out. None of the knights have noticed their king's little episode, and they assault Gwaine with questions. The knight grins a little.

"I danced with her before, the ball celebrating the end of the Second Cornwall War. Quite the lady. Hair like midnight ebony, and skin as pale as snow…"

The knights roll their eyes. Clesek snaps, "You're lying. Why would _she_ choose a barely-noble idiot like you?"

Gwaine bristles. "Maybe it's because I'm not a pompous arse. In any case, I have her ribbon to be tied to my armor for luck. She gave it to me personally, too."

The first man whistles. "Lady Morgana? She's the Cornish princess that sits next to King Arthur, isn't she? And I always thought the lady and our king had an _understanding_, 'f you get what I mean. Back in my hometown, the rumor is that the king is head over heels for her. I see the way he looks at her."

Arthur seethes silently, but tries to stay put. The man was from some estate far from Camelot. Merlin had never mentioned _rumors_ of this kind.

Leon shakes his head. "Battle buddies, I think. She used to lead Cornwall's armies. Went on some sort of quest together and came back with her nearly dead. Arthur went on another quest just to find a cure."

Clesek raises his eyebrows. "Hardly just a comrade, then, if he risked his life for her. But I bet she doesn't feel the same way."

Arthur decides that enough is enough. He stands up abruptly and stalks over to their seats. Allowing his not-smile to show more teeth than necessary, he clears his throat.

The knights stumble to their feet in a hurry. Clesek is bright red. "M...my liege."

Arthur levels a stare at him, then turns to Gwaine. "Excited for the tournament?"

Gwaine smiles crookedly. "Maybe I'll actually get a chance to win, now that you're not in the running."

Leon coughs awkwardly. "In any case, the tournament will be an exciting one. We'd best be preparing."

Arthur nods, and the knights scurry off. Gwaine still has a stupid smile on his face, and Arthur tries very hard to be happy for him.

Of course, trying doesn't guarantee success.

When Lancelot and Guinevere arrive, Arthur does not go to formally receive them. Both have left in quasi-disgrace, and there is no reason for a king to stir himself on behalf of a humble knight and his lady. Even if that lady had been very close to being his wife.

Instead, he stays in his chambers and orders that he remain undisturbed. There are more reports from Cornwall's sentries to look at, as well as the ever-growing tax rolls to be approved by him. He could easily spend a day or more grappling with the paperwork, and it would be legitimately important enough to stay in his chambers. Not that he wants to avoid anyone. Arthur stares at the unfurled roll of parchment in front of him with a savage ferocity.

"Did that poor piece of parchment do something to you when it was still a sheep, Arthur?" an amused voice breaks into his thoughts. He grunts- what was the point of ordering that no one be admitted to his chambers if anyone could just barge in at any time?- and takes his eyes off the document, giving it one last glare for good measure.

Morgana raises an eyebrow at him, smirking. In her hands is another bunch of documents, and she seems to have been working for a while as well. There are ink smudges on her fingertips. Arthur looks up at her.

"What part of 'enter my chambers under pain of death' do you not understand?"

She tosses the scrolls onto his wooden table and flops down on a chair. "The part where _I'm _the one doing your paperwork. Might as well have you to bother while I organize your tournament." An unladylike snort escapes her. "How men find glory in beating other up as a spectacle, I will never know."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "We've gone over this before, Morgana. Makes the people feel safe, remember?"

She shrugs. "If you say so, Arthur. I must say, I expected you to be greeting the new arrivals."

He knows who she is referring to, but doesn't rise to the bait. If there even was a bait. Shrugging, he replies, " I was busy." He waves at the sprawl of documents splayed out on the desk. "As you can see."

Morgana smiles crookedly. "You wouldn't mind some company, would you?" She doesn't wait for an answer, but steals one of his quills and lays out her own work on the relatively clean part of the table.

They work in a relatively companionable silence, him at his reports and her at the logistics of the tournament. It is when Arthur has read through the rest of the sentry reports that Morgana breaks the silence.

"Sir Lancelot _is _eligible for the tournament, is he not? I have here a request for him to be included."

Arthur looks up, half in surprise and half in consternation. Lancelot is among the best of his warriors; should he take part, it is almost certain that he be crowned victor. Not that he's worried, or anything petty like that. No, it's the fact that Lancelot is _married_ to Guinevere, but as victor he'll be obligated to escort Morgana to the feast. Which would leave Guinevere unescorted, and therefore would be extremely awkward for him. He is tempted to run his hand through his hair in annoyance-he hated these fiddly court proceedings. Instead, he shakes his head.

"There's nothing barring him from it. If he so wishes, he may."

She nods and resumes writing. He leans back and watches the even scratching of her quill, thinking. There wouldn't be a problem if Lancelot _didn't _win- it's just that there's almost no one to match him in skill. Not Leon, who still has that limp from the dragon attack (and who's survived one too many times for it not to be suspicious), and not Percival. And Gwaine, with Morgana's favor - perhaps, but the odds weren't in his favor. There's something that twists in him at the thought of _Gwaine_ winning too. Suddenly it seems the air is stifling him. He's not meant to be doing this. These trivial subtleties aren't doing anything for his people, yet he must suffer them.

And everything else. Things he'd never imagined would be his lot when he ascended the throne. A sudden longing hits him for the days when all he had to worry about was the next magical threat to Camelot. When Uther had kept everything too simple.

He clears his throat.

"I'm entering too."

Morgana looks up incredulously. "What?"

"I'm entering too," Arthur repeats, "in the tournament."

Morgana does not attempt to hide her shock. She puts down her quill. "Have you gone _mad_, Arthur? What would be the point of you entering? Are you not aware of the risks?"

"I'm touched that you have such faith in me, my lady," he snarks. Morgana glares at him.

She breathes out, then very slowly says, "You do understand that the fate of _Camelot_ and now _Cornwall_ rests upon you and you only. I fail to see the point in your participation of such...risky spectacles at this moment in time. Everyone acknowledges your prowess in battle. What would be the point of you entering?"

He quirks his lips. "I'm aware of that, Morgana." Blue eyes meet green, and he swallows. "I just- want to be that irresponsible prince again, one last time. Nothing weighing me down. Being one of the knights again."

Silence. For the first time since she walked in, she seems unsure of herself. The air stills around them.

She gets up and walks to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How long?" _How long have you shouldered the burden alone?_

He stares ahead. "My father died four years ago." _And your people rejoiced._

Morgana stays silent. Arthur lets out a puff of breath and shrugs her hand off. She smiles a little sadly then returns to her seat, picking up her quill and adding notes to her parchment. Arthur continues staring into empty space. Her voice cuts through his numb reverie.

"Will you be using your Pendragon coat of arms?"

He looks at her. Her voice is casual, full of that studied nonchalance she wears as a mask. She raises an eyebrow.

He smiles.

.

"You crazy, idiotic _prathead! _What were you _thinking_, pulling off a trick like that?"

Arthur squints up at Morgana from his chair as she paces the length of the small tent. She's ranting about how stupid he's been (again) as his wounds are being treated by Gaius. Merlin is watching in amusement, and Arthur shoots him a glare.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Merlin," he grunts as the final bandage is tied, "and get back to whatever it was you're supposed to be doing."

Merlin grins even wider. " You know, I thought Morgana was going to break the arms of her seat, she was gripping it so tight."

It's Morgana's turn to glare at the sorcerer. Gaius snorts at the sight before bowing slowly to Arthur. "Finished, Sire." He walks out of the tent, heaving a sigh at the quibbling younger people.

Arthur can't hide his grin. "Worried, were you?" Morgana scoffs at that.

"Just about the massive mess that you'd leave me. Can you imagine?"

Merlin coughs surreptitiously, "Liar." They both ignore him. Arthur fiddles with his bandage, then opens his mouth.

"I still won, didn't I?"

That sets Morgana off. "Yes, you _idiot,_ you beat Gwaine to pieces. After nearly killing Lancelot and getting your left arm sliced. And won a tournament you knew you would win anyways. You threw away your _shield _for no other reason than a _ribbon _was tangled in it. Couldn't you have, oh, I don't know, cut it off or something?"

Arthur puts on a serious face. "I couldn't do that, now. Some poor lady gave him that ribbon, and it would be against the rules of chivalry to damage such a meaningful token."

The _poor lady _in question snorts. "There's no such lines in the rules of chivalry. You were just being a prathead." She pauses. "You're sore about that, aren't you? Jealous, are we?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "As if. I'm not the one who's going to need bed rest for three weeks."

"You're not going to let him. Knowing you, you'd probably have Leon drag him to the training grounds in a week." Morgana's voice is resigned. Merlin nods in agreement.

"Sounds like something you'd do, Sire."

Arthur looks at Merlin. "Now you're against me?" The sorcerer shrugs and Arthur sighs. "Should have expected it."

Morgana smirks and holds out a hand. "If you will milord, we should prepare for the crowning of the victor. I hear you're an important part of the ceremony."

He takes it and gets to his feet. "I suppose I will, my lady. After all, it would be such a shame if the lady of the tournament had to wait."

Rolling his eyes, Merlin slips out of the tent first. Morgana makes to follow him, but Arthur takes her hand. She looks back in surprise. Arthur gently opens her palm, places the ribbon that had been her favor to Gawain on it, then closes her fingers around it. Before she can respond in any way, he lets go and strides to catch up with Merlin.

Morgana stays rooted to the spot, staring at the blue ribbon. She breaks her reverie and looks up quickly.

"Arthur, you _idiot, _don't tell me you picked this up during _combat_!"

Arthur pretends not to hear as he reaches the gates of Camelot.

.

"I present to you our champion- Arthur Pendragon!" Morgana's voice rings through the hall as he enters and strides to the front of the hall. He reaches her, where she is waiting on the raised pedestal, Merlin smiling beside her. He kisses her outstretched hand, and she withdraws it, her eyes dancing. Merlin hands her the victor's crown, and Arthur's eyes widen with recognition.

It's his crown. Not his officiating king's circlet, but his old prince's crown.

Suddenly, he feels like everything has gone back to the way it was- the way the court's cheers envelop him, and the way nothing is weighing on his shoulder like an inexorable burden, he's twenty years old and the beloved crown prince again. Morgana's smiling at him as she places the circlet on his head, and everything is _right_.

It won't last. But he can enjoy tonight.

Impulsively, he holds her by the waist and twirls her down from the pedestal. She lets out a full-throated laugh and clutches him. The cheers grow louder, and she lets him lead her over for the first dance.

Arthur steps on her foot twice, but that's alright- she steps on his three times. They're too busy laughing at each other anyways. The spirited gavotte comes to an end, and they both step out of the waltz that starts directly afterwards. Morgana reaches up playfully on tiptoes to right the crown that's slipped lopsided on his head. He grins and pulls at the ribbon adorning her hairdo. It comes undone, and she raises an eyebrow. He takes a closer look.

"This is that favor of yours, isn't it?" he asks, holding it up. She tries to snatch it from him, but he is too tall. He waves it at her. "You do know this was rolling around in the dirt for a while?"

She rolls her eyes and whacks him on the elbow, making him drop it. She picks it up herself.

"I washed it, obviously."

He nods patronizingly. "Of course you did."

She whacks him again, and starts when he actually winces. She's hit his left arm, where Lancelot had drawn blood. She purses her lips.

"You know, Gwaine could have taken him."

He grunts. "But I did it faster."

Morgana smiles again, amused, then takes the ribbon and loops it around the area where the bandage has been wound under his clothes. She ties it a little clumsily, tight enough to secure the bandage should it slip. He watches her fingers as they slip on the blue satin.

Morgana steps back, satisfied. "Done. Now you can be as idiotic as you want, and the bandage should stay."

Arthur nods. "Thank you, my lady."

"I suppose I must take your leave; mustn't make all the ladies hate me by monopolizing your awe-inspiring presence." She curtsies and saunters off.

Arthur fiddles with the ribbon, then looks up when he hears a woman's footsteps approach. He looks up.

Guinevere is resplendent in a lilac gown, her hair pinned up in a married woman's up do. She curtsies.

"Your majesty."

Arthur bows, internally tensing. "Lady Guinevere."

She looks around at the revelry around them. "It seems Camelot is as lively as ever. Quite different from the countryside."

He doesn't know why she's talking to him, but replies. "And how did you find your new home?"

"Quite dull. Nothing to be compared with court. It seems you've been better acquainted with the Cornish princess, your majesty."

"She is on the council of lords, my lady," Arthur cautiously answers. There's a glint in Guinevere's eyes that he can't fathom, and this is turning awkward fast. Guinevere does not seem to notice his discomfort.

"And when should I expect the wedding to take place?"

"I...I beg your pardon, my lady?" Arthur stutters.

"I asked when the wedding was." Her smile twists up. "Seeing as you're so in love with her you'd cast away your own betrothed on a _suspicion_, I knew it couldn't be too far off."

Arthur exhales wearily. "Guinevere-" She cuts him off.

"I wish you well, Arthur. I hope you can find comfort when the initial enchantment wears thin."

Guinevere turns abruptly and makes her way to Lancelot. Arthur watches them with a sour taste in his mouth.

He'd give anything to have all the complications ironed out of his life right now.

But the feast is in his honor, spirits are high, and it is easy to leave those thoughts be.

.

If only life could be as easy.

The feast finally over with, Arthur is preparing for bed. Already out of his armor, he is undressing when Morgana bursts in. He freezes halfway from taking his shirt off, staring at her as she just stands there, breathing heavily. She had retired to her bedchambers much earlier, before the feast had even wound down, claiming that she was worn out. Of all the things he had expected this evening, Morgana in only her nightclothes barging into his chambers was not one of them. He manages to get his brain working again.

"Morgana. Would you...turn around for a bit while I...uh…put my shirt on?"

She ignores him, walking further into the room before sinking down to the floor.

Arthur is disconcerted. "Morgana!" Abandoning his shirt, he strides to her and supports her up.

She finds her voice. "They...they're coming. And they're ready this time. Even if all of Albion… they're coming."

"Morgana, look at me. Who's coming? Look at me. You're in Camelot."

She levels her burning gaze at him. "The Saxons have arrived. We need to get ready."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for waiting! All of your feedback really helped me get past my writer's block...A special thankyou to Archangelo137 for bringing me back to this story with encouragement!**

**This is the second-last chapter; I hope you've enjoyed the story so far! **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Estele**


	20. The End of the Beginning

**A/N: This is the very last chapter! Thank you so much for staying with me through the 6 1/2 months it took to finish! Thank you to reviewers, both one-time and faithful- I couldn't have done it without your support and reviews, which I feed on.**

* * *

><p>The halls of Camelot are eerily quiet; a far cry from the bustling state they were in but a few days ago. The social season cut short, most of the nobles have left to prepare their own estates. The ones that remain at Camelot have their duties as well, everything from overseeing supplies to mobilizing the army; a determined calm settles over the inhabitants. Even the servants are quieter than usual.<p>

For Arthur, almost every waking hour is spent in preparation. He sees far too much of his council now- good men resolved on protecting Camelot, but rather set in their individual opinions. One of his greatest desires now is to go a day, just one day, without an argument erupting during the council sessions. He takes his meals while poring over reports, and sleep seldom keeps him for longer than a quarter of the night.

He knows it's the same for Morgana, who is by his side in all this. She may even be _more_ worried about this invasion than he is, if that was even possible; she knows Cornwall is the first in the line of fire. She reports daily to Arthur on the state of affairs on the coast, and the circles under her eyes grow deeper. Merlin has taken to spelling the area around Arthur's table to be lit through the night; more often than not, Arthur and Morgana sit together until dawn and work through the overwhelming logistics needed for combating such threats.

"They'll attempt to gather supplies as they conquer," Morgana remarks one night. "They can't possibly bring enough to feed their armies for the length of the invasion, and they can't drag their ships with them as they go inland."

Arthur looks up from the grain inventory he was peering at. "Your point?"

One corner of her lips twists up wryly. "Expect massive amounts of damage done to the countryside. We may have to evacuate all villagers to nearby fiefs."

"That may not be enough," Arthur says, "they'll be able to get supplies more easily, with no resistance."

Morgana nods, then meets his eyes. "How far are you willing to go to prevent that?"

"I see no viable way to do so right now."

"There is one way," Morgana comments, hand hovering over the map where the army markers and camps have been set up. She smiles drily. "Have the villagers take everything they possibly can into the fortresses, then burn the rest."

Arthur's eyes widen. "Morgana, the spring crops have just been planted. Their entire livelihood-"

Morgana raises an eyebrow. "Cornwall has already begun the burnings." She runs her hand along the coastal region marked on the leather map. "Everything along here. They tell me the smoke can be seen from Tintagel. But luckily, it's blown out to sea."

Arthur puts down his parchment. "What happens to them after the invasion passes?"

"They start again," Morgana says calmly, "as they have done in times past."

"I…" Arthur's mouth tightens. "I will consider that course of action."

Morgana nods curtly, and they both return to their respective documents.

Neither of them mention it again.

.

Once the initial flurry has passed, however, the grim mood eases slightly. With all possible arrangements made and responsibilities divvied out, Arthur can now focus more on battle strategies and training the knights. The dawn sessions are extended to become morning sessions, with Lancelot presiding as drillmaster. Lancelot is an honorable man, and Arthur appreciates the fact that he is able to overcome personal feelings to do his duty for his nation. Arthur takes part in this as much as his work will allow, often sparring with Lancelot and Gwaine.

Guinevere watches, always hovering near her husband during the brief breaks. She is stuck in an awkward situation in Camelot; she must stay as her husband is needed, but it is unclear what role she herself has to play. There is no one she can pay social visits to, and it has been long since Guinevere has given up her role of hostess of Camelot. Her chocolate eyes are melancholy more often than not, but she hides it well around her husband.

Arthur watches during a water break as Guinevere approaches her husband to whisper in his ear. Lancelot embraces her, his strong arms slipping to encircle her waist. She smiles gently and leans her head on his shoulder. It is a scene of tranquility, and the knights dare not comment, in respect for the brief illusion of peace it allows them. Of normality and domestic happiness they may never have.

Guinevere seems genuinely happy. Arthur observes the couple, not with jealousy but a sincere curiosity. He has not seen many contented couples in his life- none in stable relationships he could see as an example of a healthy matrimony. Seeing his once-closest knight so clearly enjoying the company of his wife-who-was-once-betrothed-to-him, Arthur cannot help but wonder at the sheer luck of Lancelot.

His reverie is broken by a hand on his shoulder. He looks back to see Morgana clutching a letter in her hands.

Morgana leans down to whisper, "You need to see this. Training can wait."

She thrusts the letter at him and beckons for him to follow her. They walk into the castle, heading to the empty council chamber. Arthur takes a seat and begins reading the letter, but she remains standing and drums her fingers against the table impatiently.

Arthur reads through the official correspondence slowly, and then rereads it. He frowns.

"Monarchs from all of Albion are coming to Camelot. This isn't a request, is it?"

"No, " Morgana agrees, "It isn't." She looks at him, as if waiting for something. Arthur is nonplussed.

"If they had wished for a diplomatic visit, should they not have discussed it with us? They seem to be wanting to have a strategic summit for the coming threat- it would be common courtesy to give us notice. I haven't received any word of this before."

Morgana sighs. "If you haven't realized by now, there's no point in me enlightening you. I'll make the preparations. Be ready to receive them." She walks out, leaving him to reread the letter again. He mulls over her words afterwards, but he cannot imagine what she can be referring to.

The delegations start arriving within a few days. Duke Gorlois arrives first, accompanied by his daughter and son-in law. Cenred of Escetia is a sharp-looking man, two swords strapped to his back and clad in leather. His wife, Morgause of Cornwall, rides beside him in a red dress with delicate chain mail. The reception is cordial, although there is a strange undercurrent that Arthur cannot explain.

Duke Gorlois makes the introductions. Cenred clasps arms with Arthur, meeting his eyes boldly. The man rumbles, "you'll do," and says nothing more. It is Morgause who goes through the formal pleasantries with Arthur, her regal presence exceeding that of her husband. A coronet crowning her fair hair, there is a look of iron resolve and cold calculation visible in her countenance despite her pleasant words and manner.

"Camelot hopes that your stay will be a comfortable one," Arthur offers. Morgana is standing in his retinue, and he can see from the corner of his eyes that she is smiling at her sister. Morgause makes a discreet hand gesture to her that he barely catches before she replies.

"Escetia is heartened by your hospitality. We trust that we will not impinge on your generosity overlong. " Cenred grunts at that. Arthur glances at him, but directs his words to Morgause.

"I am sure you are weary from your journey. The servants will escort you to your chambers now."

Morgause nods, the chain mail of her sleeves glinting as it reflects the light streaming in through the windows. She and her husband follow the two pages to the quarters prepared for them, and various other servants lead the rest of the retinue to theirs.

Gorlois is led to his own quarters, and Arthur sighs in relief that the ceremonies were over. Distantly, he thinks it could have gone much worse.

Dinner is a stately affair, even if it is relatively tense. Cenred sits to Arthur's right at the center of the royal table, with Morgause at Cenred's right and Morgana sitting next to her. Gorlois sits at Arthur's left. Cenred makes no effort to make conversation, and Gorlois seems content to remain silent. Arthur almost wishes Merlin would do something catastrophically stupid like spilling wine over Cenred's head or something that would cause a diplomatic nightmare, if only to relieve this stifling silence.

Morgause notices, and whispers something to her husband before turning back to Morgana and resuming their conversation. Cenred sighs and mutters something that sounds like "women," before finally speaking to Arthur. "You hunt?"

The abrupt question takes Arthur by surprise, and he struggles to swallow before replying, "Yes. The forests at Camelot are well gamed. Do you?"

A grunt. "It's better than sitting around and talking to people." They lapse into silence.

Arthur feels obligated to begin conversation again. "How are your people faring with news of the Saxon threat?"

"They'd be panicking- which is why they aren't told," Cenred grins, "Morgause is very good at keeping secrets from leaking out."

Arthur blinks. "They...do not know?"

Cenred looks at him askew. "Yours know? What use is the knowledge to peasants? As long as they follow orders and keep up the supply, there's no need."

Arthur opens his mouth and closes it. Cenred seems to see the struggle in his eyes to keep calm, and lowers his voice. "Perhaps them knowing would have advantages as well. But for Escetia's peace, this is better." Arthur nods, and Cenred twists his mouth up. "It's good to see you're as noble as they say. At least you won't backstab us, if you're this concerned about principles."

There's not muchc Arthur can say to that. They go through the rest of the meal in silence.

Morgause and Cenred excuse themselves at the end of the meal. They march - and Arthur thinks there is no other way to describe how they move together than in a militaristic sense- back to their chambers, and the rest of the court slowly filters out as well.

Duke Gorlois remains until the hall is nearly empty.

"It is no small thing that they are doing, King Arthur," he remarks, "for Cenred is a man not used to bending to others' wills."

Arthur inquires, "But what are they here to do? No one," he shoots a glare at Morgana, "has seen fit to enlighten me in this."

Duke Gorlois is bemused. "Is it not clear? They are here to negotiate an alliance for Albion, as are the others. The Saxon threat is such that no one country can stand alone any longer. United is the only way that Albion will survive."

"I do not see how or why Camelot is chosen to be the meeting grounds for such a union," Arthur counters. Remembering Mercia's Poison Incident- they really needed to beef up security to prevent poisonings at state affairs, it's happened at least three times already- he adds, "Camelot is by no means neutral, nor is it free of unsavory incidents."

Duke Gorlois shakes his head. "You will see, King Arthur." His eyes suddenly crinkle up in a smile. "This may be the reason you are the right choice, after all. You think not of machinations or power. Yes, you will do."

Arthur opens his mouth to question him, but Duke Gorlois bows. "If I may, I would like to spend some time with my daughters. It has been long since I have spoken to both of them. If you will excuse me," he says. Arthur runs a frustrated hand through his hair, but nods. Morgana takes Gorlois's arm and leaves. Arthur stalks off to his chambers to try to puzzle out the meaning of the duke's cryptic words.

The exercise bears no fruit. Arthur cannot derive any meaning from the actions of the monarchs, apart from a wish to solidify alliances in order to show a more united front against the Saxons. He sighs.

Arthur knows that he is not a brilliant philosopher- while he is by no means dull, court intrigues and machinations hold no interest for him. He has little aptitude for subtleties; his strengths lie in strategies, the rush of battle, the protection of his people. Pretty words mean as little as they praise, and he refuses to expend more energy on them. He closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

Sometime between the sun's rising and breakfast, when he is sitting at his desk and looking at more reports, Morgana strides in. She states without preamble, "The rest of the Five Kingdoms delegation has arrived. Let's go."

Arthur grunts and picks up his crown, jamming it on his head. Morgana smiles unwillingly, then goes on tiptoe to arrange it better on his head. Her callused fingers brush against his forehead. He distantly wonders if his mother's fingers were rough as well. When he looks at her, she has taken her hand away and is looking at him quizzically.

"Something wrong?"

He shrugs. "I trust the retinue is ready."

"Of course," she tosses her hair, "they're all waiting for you."

He strides into the throne room, meeting the kings halfway. There are three of them, all at a sufficient distance from each other; Alined from Clarence steps forward to clasp his arm and drawl a few pleasantries first. He remembers the man as a deceptive man, always keeping up that façade of a peace-loving king. As he returns those sentiments, he can't help wondering what he is planning this time- the last time he had visited, his little love potion trick had him infatuated with Princess Vivian of Cantia. He had had to apologize for a _month_ to Guinevere after that, with flowers every day and special events. Princess Vivian is present as well; she stands behind her father King Olaf, in the delegation of Cantia. Arthur moves to greet Olaf; he sighs a little when Olaf's grip is a little tighter than is polite. Nevertheless, he repeats the same words said to Alined, and Cenred before that.

"Camelot welcomes you and hopes that your stay will be a comfortable one."

Vivian giggles nervously and flutters her fingers at him. Olaf glances at her and sighs wearily- it is clear that he is used to her behavior. Arthur is still rather confused about the incidents that occurred the last time the Five Kingdoms had gathered: Merlin had told him that the Trickster had slipped both Arthur and Vivian love potions, and he had had to break the spell. For some reason, Merlin had failed to break the part where Vivian was utterly in love with him. Arthur inwardly sighs at the prospect of having to avoid the princess for the coming days.

Bayard is last, and he is the most awkward to face. The poisoning incident notwithstanding, Camelot and Mercia has never been on good terms. Arthur winces at the last time he was in Bayard's castle, the second time he had encountered Morgana- they had ended up escaping from Bayard's guardhouse by blowing up a wall. Not the best impression to leave.

But the king seems ready to let bygones lie, clasping his hand amiably enough. Morgana grimaces a little- Arthur guesses she's remembering the same incident. The rest of the reception goes well, and soon they are led to their quarters as well. In a way, it is a mercy that most of the nobles have left court; there would be no way for Camelot to house all these nobles appropriately had the castle not been so sparsely populated at the moment.

Arthur watches them walk off, and is about to leave himself when Morgana whispers to him, "Odin of Meredor has arrived. Will you be alright?"

Arthur grimaces; Odin has a personal grudge against him, as he has told Morgana. He does not blame the king- Arthur killed his son Thor in a tournament after a duel had gone bad. Odin had loved his son fiercely; the king's whole family considered themselves the descendants of the Norse gods, hence the names. With the Viking influence strong in them, Arthur knows it is hard for Odin to let go of such bad blood between them.

"I'll be fine."

To Arthur's surprise, she slips her fingers between his and squeezes gently. Her voice is noncommittal as she remarks, "At least you have counter-leverage; the man did send two assassins after you, didn't he? If he has any shame, he'll stay put." She releases his hand and steps back to her allotted position in the retinue.

He has no time to comment as the Meredor delegation strides into the throne room before he can speak. Odin stares at Arthur with open animosity before grating out, "I have no wish to be welcomed by Camelot, nor do I hope that it will be comfortable. But the enemy of my enemy must be an ally for now. Know that, if we fall, I will exact my full vengeance before I die. Boy, you had better not be found wanting."

Arthur frowns, but makes no reply. He has that feeling that he is missing out on something vital again. Morgana steps forward smoothly. "I am sure your majesty would like to see his quarters. The servants will escort you."

Odin peers at her. "You're Gorlois's girl- the younger one. It's a wonder you're still at Camelot. Very well." The grizzled king nods and follows the liveried pages out of the hall. Arthur turns to Morgana when they have left.

"Be found wanting for what? Morgana, if you're hiding something from me…"

Morgana shrugs. "It's not my fault you're too dense to figure it out, my lord." She wanders off. Arthur groans.

Two kings arrive the next day, each accompanied by their daughter. Arthur would suspect these visits as attempts at securing him as a husband, had it not been for the fact that practically every other king in Albion had also invited themselves here. King Keredic is wary but pleasant, and his daughter Mithian makes up for the awkwardness with her warmth. Nemeth and Camelot has had a rocky relationship in times past, with the dispute over the land of Gedref having led to a betrothal between him and Mithian when Uther was king. Mithian had understood that there was Guinevere, and his duties, and that Arthur wouldn't be able to make her happy, and had little objection when Arthur managed to tangle his way out of it.

Arthur thinks the gods arranged today to punish him with untold awkwardness- Mithian and Elena has arrived on the same day, both princesses he had been engaged to. And there was Vivian already settled in. Godwyn of Logres seems to have retained his permanent good cheer. Arthur cannot meet King Godwyn's enthusiasm completely in his greetings, but he is glad for the ties between Camelot and Logres- at least there isn't animosity between them.

Queen Annis of Caerleon is the last to arrive. Hair adorned by a simple gold band, Annis is the essence of understated formidability. Arthur thinks Morgause could look like Annis when she grows old; the same steel is apparent in their eyes. Annis looks up at him coolly and extends a hand. He kisses it, bowing. The formal greeting, which is getting rapidly annoying and so cliché that he could recite it in his sleep, is said.

Queen Annis nods. "And we are glad to be here. My husband is completing the fortification of Caerleon, and could not be excused. I trust Camelot is faring well."

Arthur replies in the affirmative, then offers to have the servants show them to their  
>quarters. With so many rulers received in so short a time, it feels as if this is an endless cycle that he has to run- bow, smile, bid them welcome, show them to their chambers, bow, smile. Gorlois leaves with Annis- they have been firm friends, and they are eager to talk. Arthur lets himself slump a little and heads back. Merlin walks back with him.<p>

"At least it's all over now. They'll be gone within a week."

He snorts. "Least of my worries right now, Merlin." Merlin frowns, before realizing.

"It's the Saxons you're concerned about, then?"

Most powerful magician in existence Merlin may be, but no one can say he is the sharpest knife in the drawer. Arthur resists the urge to smack himself in the head, and the even more greater one to smack Merlin in the head.

"_No,_ Merlin, of course I'm not worried about the hordes of foreign mercenaries ready to ravage our lands and destroy all of Albion. No, not at all."

Merlin blinks. "That was definitely sarcasm. But according to Morgana, there's more than a fortnight before they even approach our shores. And Gorlois says the tides will not allow their landing until a week after, _if _they're lucky."

Arthur stares ahead. "That doesn't mean they're not coming."

"It'd be nice if they didn't," Merlin shrugs, "but we'll win, won't we?"

Arthur grunts. He knows Merlin pretends to be more optimistic than he is; happier and dumber. He's seen Merlin burn men alive, smite them with lightning, and once even encase someone in living rock. Merlin knows more- _sees_ more than he lets on.

Arthur claps him on the shoulder once and parts ways. Entering his chamber, he tosses the crown lightly onto the bed and stretches.

Odin of Meredor. Annis of Caerleon, Keredic of Nemeth, Godwyn of Logres. Alined of Clarence, Olaf of Cantia, Bayard of Mercia, and Cenred of Escetia. The last four he can understand- the Five Kingdoms have banded together in dangerous times, for protection and handy allies. Logres as well; King Godwyn has been firm friends with Uther. But Caerleon and Nemeth? With their history of raiding each other? Meredor?

_But we'll win, won't we?_

Merlin's words echo in his ears. All of these countries want one thing, after all- survival. They were scrabbling for any way to increase their chances against the Saxons. Only a fool would be assured of victory.

And he is not a fool.

.

The day dawns abruptly; spring has been inching closer, and now it swept through in the course of a day. The still chilly air is alternated with warmer summer breezes. Arthur wakes up and dresses for training before remembering- the monarchs have together requested an audience. Practically a summit. He sighs, and picks out a clean linen shirt and breeches, then shrugs on his best ceremonial tunic and jacket. A page comes in with his cape, sword, and crown, then slips out. Morgana comes in, after knocking for once instead of barging in. She sees him struggling with the cape and smiles that fond, unwilling smile again.

"Oh, Arthur. Have you been bested by a mere article of clothing again?"

Arthur raises the corner of his lips. "You've caught me." She steps over and arranges it around his shoulders.

"I should tell you- be prepared. It's a big day." He huffs.

"And you wouldn't be planning on telling me why it's a big day, would you?"

Morgana taps her lips with a finger. "What would be the fun in that?" She places the crown on his head, and then grows serious.

"Arthur."

"Hmm?" he asks, strapping his sword belt on.

"Believe me when I say, you are the only man I know who I'd consider worthy of this. No matter what happens today, promise me that you will not doubt yourself."

Arthur quirks his lips up. "But you still won't tell me what's going to happen."

She looks up at him, her jade eyes grave. "They _have _arranged this visit since the very day we heard of the Saxons' returning. Father told me, and I have been making arrangements ever since then. We've worked hard to keep you unaware. You-" she chuckles a little, "you help our cause best by being unaware. It makes it more convincing, lets the other nations be more convinced of your character and sincerity." She smoothes down the nonexistent wrinkles on her violet dress- in a distant corner of his mind, he notes that it's the same dress she wore that day in the throne room when Gorlois had sworn fealty. A sudden thought strikes him.

"Morgana, you-"

She surprises him into silence by taking both his hands in hers. "Arthur, you need only be yourself. Men would willingly follow you to hell itself on that. Don't be afraid."

He swallows. "I'm never afraid."

She smiles gently and goes on tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He goes still, hands resting on her waist. She steps back.

"For luck, then." She sweeps him a deep curtsey- the deepest he has seen her make- and pads out.

Arthur smiles.

.

The throne room is arranged in an unorthodox manner; usually, the king and his closest would sit on the raised dais while the rest of the court stands. With a royal visit, both monarchs would stand. Now, with nine nations represented in the same audience, Morgana has settled for an odd solution: Arthur and his court stand behind where the raised dais would usually be, while the remaining eight fanning out in a semicircular formation facing him. Arthur considers himself fortunate that this is only an audience and not a full-blown negotiation session, as it would have been difficult to arrange sitting plans in a way that would not result in blows or bloodshed.

Arthur waits as one by one, each delegation enter and stands at their allotted positions. Morgana stands at his side with her father, as does Merlin with Gaius. The rest of the knights and dignitaries of Camelot stand fanned out according to rank behind them. When at last Odin and the Meredor delegation enters and takes their place, Arthur clears his throat.

"I hope that you have had a comfortable night. Camelot welcomes you once more."

Their faces hold identical expressions of gravity. Odin glowers, while Godwyn smiles. After a brief pause, Queen Annis stands forward. Her steely eyes are fixed on his face as she begins speaking- and it becomes apparent as she does that the royals have all conferred privately and chose her as their spokesperson.

"We are grateful for the magnanimous hospitality shown by Camelot, and thank you for granting us this audience." She raises her chin. "The Saxon threat is looming over us. We nations of Albion have long searched for a way to ensure the safety and protection of our people. And now, let me speak frankly. We are resolved to take whatever action to secure our victory against the Saxons, to prove that Albion is no easy prey. We have all reached the same conclusion: that only united will we triumph." She nods at Bayard, and he speaks in his gravelly voice.

"We have all had our fair share of disagreements and wars; none of us are fierce allies with one another. But we must put aside our animosity in light of this greater enemy." Bayard glances at Odin, then resumes. "There is no other way. We then proposed a temporary alliance amongst individual nations; but this will not do. We have received reports from the Continent- Celidoine and Branlant has fallen; the Saxons sow salt in their fields and burn everything in their way. Even the Romans have retreated from Clauvegris, from which they are preparing to set sail to our Isle. The magnitude of this threat requires something greater than weak alliances; something permanent."

Cenred and Morgause step forward, but it is Morgause who speaks. "A High King to unite Albion. We have found this to be the only viable course of action. For many days we have discussed the nature of this way. Who is to lead us- to unite us in a way that we are bound closer than blood?" She pauses, golden hair glinting in the sunlight. "And we have made our decision."

Arthur tenses at the suddenly charged atmosphere. Morgana murmurs, "here it comes." Before his eyes, Cenred and Morgause kneels. The Escetian delegates and knights fall to their knees immediately afterwards. As Arthur stares in bewilderment, King Godwyn kneels as well, followed by Keredic, Bayard, Olaf, Alined. One by one the delegations fall to their knees, bowing- Annis nods once and gracefully kneels, and even Odin reluctantly genuflects. All before Arthur bows in submission, and Arthur gapes at the sight of each monarch on their knees.

Morgause looks up. "We, the nations of Meredor, Logres, Caerleon, Nemeth, Clarence, Cantia, Mercia, and Escetia,submits itself to Camelot's King Arthur. We offer the High Kingship in hopes of unity. In life and death, all Albion offers allegiance. Let a new Albion come forth, united in kinship. King Arthur, we swear fealty to you."

Arthur is struck dumb as each ruler repeats the last sentence. Morgause continues with the binding vows.

"We offer our loyalty in life and death. In battle and peace, our faith and our strength." He can do nothing but stare as the sentence is echoed by each and every dignitary. There is absolute silence as Morgause pauses.

"We offer you our heart and soul. All Escetia, united in this."

Bayard nods. "All Mercia."

"All Cantia," Olaf intones.

"All Clarence," Alined says, grimacing.

"All Nemeth."

Annis's back is ramrod straight, even in genuflection. "All Caerleon."

Godwyn smiles. "All Logres."

Odin hesitates, but at last he grits out, "All Meredor."

They take a breath, and repeat, "We offer you our heart and soul, our fealty and the High Kingship. King Arthur of Camelot, All Albion united in this."

Arthur stands frozen, still standing. Another silent pause, and it is broken by the sounds of knees hitting the floor as Morgana and Merlin kneel. One by one, the court of Camelot kneels. Arthur turns.

_All Albion, united in this._

Morgana raises her voice triumphantly. "All hail High King Arthur!"

The cry is taken up by the entire assembly. "All hail High King Arthur!" "All hail High King Arthur!"

The cheering echoes through the throne room.

_All Hail King Arthur_.

_For Albion._

* * *

><p>The rest of the week passes in a blur for Arthur. The official documents are signed, feasts are given, private audiences had. There is much to do and too much to learn, and everything is almost surreal for Arthur. <em>High King.<em> Soon enough, it is time for the rulers to leave for their countries, to prepare for the coming campaign. One last grand feast is thrown in their honor.

Arthur announces that they are to march separately to Glauchedon in a week's time, where they would set up headquarters and begin the campaign against the Saxons. Each monarch makes their own speeches, declaring their acquiescence and renewing their vows of fealty. The feast begins in solemnity.

Arthur sits with the nine kings and queens at the head table; the three princesses and numerous dukes are relegated to a secondary table with Duke Gorlois and Morgana. Looking at them, he realizes that had Duke Gorlois waited to swear fealty, he would still have been a king.

Queen Morgause does not miss the direction of his gaze. "You think my father is foolish to have lowered Cornwall to a dukedom," she states bluntly.

Arthur stammers, "I…"

She shakes her head sharply. "You do not understand. This-" she waves a hand at the table and the general atmosphere " is what my father has dreamed of for decades. United Albion, headed by a mighty king." She smiles bitterly. "He thought it'd be Uther Pendragon."

Morgana notices that both Morgause and Arthur are looking in the direction of their table, and nods slightly. Morgause's smile softens. "You have my father to thank. The rest of us would never have considered such a move before he showed that he would be willing. Seeing Cornwall relegating itself to a dukedom, it didn't seem so bad to be kingdoms under a High King."

"My father-"

"Was a tyrant. We hold little love for him," Morgause grimaces. "But you are different." She nods and turns her piercing eyes away. "Let us hope we were right in our decision." She faces her husband again, signaling that their conversation was over.

Arthur takes time to digest her words. Gorlois had as much right to be an equal to these rulers. Cornwall deserved better than to be a small dukedom of Cornwall. And Morgana…

Morgana nods at Morgause, who seems to have been gesturing at her. She stands up and walks out the door. Before Arthur can ask Morgause, Morgana reappears, a box in her hands and flanked by two knights holding standards with the flags rolled up and tied. Conversation trickles away as she slowly walks up to the royal table and curtsies. Morgana smiles.

"Cornwall presents this gift to the High King of Albion, in hopes that all nations will rally under his leadership." She offers the box to him.

He opens the lid slowly; it reveals an expanse of red fabric. When he lifts it up, it unrolls to show the Pendragon crest.

It's a flag- his standard. But it's been changed- the golden dragon has been crowned, and the simple red has been bordered by the colors of all the crests of the nations of Albion. It is a beautiful piece of work. Arthur holds it reverently. "I…"

Morgana snaps her fingers, and the two standards borne by the knights unfurl to show the same flag hung on it.

"May your standard always symbolize justice and peace, and the dragon standard be feared by all our enemies. Cornwall would be honored if you accepted this mark of our fealty."

Arthur's throat closes up, and he swallows to clear it. "I...am grateful to Cornwall, for its gift and fealty. It will be my personal standard, raised up in battle. I thank you." And suddenly, Arthur has an idea- impulsive, but he's the high king, isn't he? Morgana curtseys, but he stops her before she can walk back to her seat.

"I, High King Arthur, recognize Cornwall as a full kingdom on equal footing with those of all Albion. May your people prosper and your loyalty never waver." It is Morgana's turn to be surprised, her eyes growing wide. She flushes and opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Arthur meets her eyes.

"Princess Morgana. King Gorlois. I, and Camelot, thank you for your gift." _The standard and the High Kingship. You love working behind the scenes, don't you?_

Morgana curtseys numbly and returns to her seat, shocked. Queen Morgause looks very much like the cat that got the canary. The other rulers seem relatively diffident; they seem to have no objections at least. Arthur can't help feeling proud.

.

By afternoon the next day, all of the delegations have left with a promise to gather their armies to Glauchedon. Arthur sighs inwardly, watching Vivian sob uncontrollably as she waves her handkerchief at him in farewell. With Olaf's departure, the castle is once more empty of dignitaries. He walks back through the castle gates.

Morgana is waiting for him at the steps. She curtseys. "High King Arthur."

He makes an exaggerated bow. "Princess Morgana."

Her smile is wry. "You pulled a surprise on me yesterday at the feast. That was wholly unplanned, wasn't it?"

Arthur grins. "It was planned, actually, five seconds before I started talking."

"I'm flattered," she snarks, "It was Morgause, wasn't it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "We did have an...interesting conversation."

"Morgause is very adept at maneuvering," Morgana says. "I hope you didn't promise her anything."

"I didn't, as a matter of fact." Arthur looks at her. "But I did hear some things."

Morgana stops walking as well. "Oh? Such as?"

His voice is completely serious. "You and your father planned everything, didn't you? Even when you swore Cornwall into Camelot. You were planning for this."

Morgana looks away, and Arthur continues. "There's no way you could have known that I'd raise Cornwall to be a kingdom again. It was an unlikely gamble at best- why didn't you try to make your brother-in-law the high king- or even your father?"

Her mouth tightens. "You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." She walks past him. He snatches her wrist and pulls her back to him. She looks up at him, furious. "You-"

He grabs her other hand. "I need to know, Morgana."

She shakes his hands off. "It was necessary." Morgana walks swiftly away from him. Arthur stares at her retreating back.

She takes her evening meal in her chambers.

.

The next day at dawn, Arthur arrives at dawn practice to an unfamiliar sight- someone of a slight build, maybe even a woman, is sparring with Gwaine. It is clear Gwaine has the upper hand, but the stranger does not seem to be outmatched. And Gwaine is not holding back- he can tell just from the speed. As he walks closer to the training pair, he realizes it's Morgana- the jet black hair and green eyes are impossible to mistake.

Morgana's _training_. She was _stabbed _and had _blood poisoning, _just barely escaping with her _life_ less than four months ago, and she's _training._

He can't let her.

He stalks over to them. Gwaine notices first and hesitates, giving Morgana a big enough opening to twist his sword away and send it flying. She points her sword at Gwaine's neck, then sees him staring and turns to follow his gaze.

"Arthur." She nods. "You're up."

Arthur snaps to the rest of the men, "Resume drills. Now." He steps closer to Morgana. "What are you doing here?"

She looks at him in annoyance. "Training. As you can see." She waves a hand at her attire- practical breeches and shirt with metal vambraces on her forearms, training sword in one hand.

Arthur frowns. "You're not strong enough. You shouldn't be here."

Morgana stares at him as if he has gone crazy. "I am here to train, Arthur Pendragon, and you cannot tell me that I shouldn't be here." She stalks off and gestures at Percival to be her sparring partner. He is hesitant, not used to having women ask for him to try to beat her up, but Morgana is stubborn. Besides, every knight has heard of Morgana's feats in the Cornish Wars.

Merlin wanders near as they begin their spar. Though he used to love that elusive thing called sleeping late, serving Arthur for seven years have driven it from his life- he thinks he's almost physically incapable of it now. He stops when he sees Morgana, and settles down a little ways away to watch.

Morgana goes on the offensive first, staying true to her strengths and fighting style. Arthur knows how she fights. She'll use her agility and speed to end it quickly before the opponent can use his superior strength and endurance to best her. And it seems to work, because Percival is losing ground, barely countering strikes. Another glancing blow creates a gap on the left side, and Morgana swings out swiftly- but something's gone wrong and she winces, almost dropping her sword. She holds on though, swinging the sword up in time to block Percival's arcing swipe. Their swords lock. Arthur cuts in immediately, swinging his sword up and breaking them apart. "Go. Now," he growls to Percival, who stammers before rejoining the knights doing drills.

Morgana glowers. "What, exactly, do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Arthur points at her. "You aren't fully recovered. I saw you wincing. It's from the stab, isn't it?" Morgana opens her mouth to argue. He shakes his head. "Go back, Morgana."

Morgana raises her voice. "Yes, it's from the stab wound. And that's why I need to start training. I need to be able to work with it. If you would please stop being a _Prathead_, Arthur, I would appreciate it."

Arthur sighs. "Morgana, listen to me. I'm not going to see you overexert yourself or get hurt."

Morgana argues, "Do you not trust me to be that competent? I have led armies against you, Arthur Pendragon, I know how to handle myself."

Arthur groans inwardly. In truth, he cannot explain himself why he just can't stand seeing her train. He should be glad for it- she's an experienced general who would be an asset in the coming campaign, so it is advantageous to have her in fighting form as soon as possible. But the thought of Morgana going into battle settles unpleasantly against his stomach as well. She would never listen to him. But this _need _to stop her from training gnawed at him. _If I made her angry enough…_

"You may be able to handle yourself, but you're distracting my knights. I can't have them get all unfocused just because you're here." The knights are backing away slowly and looking at him like he's crazy now, too, but it doesn't matter because Morgana is furious.

"You- that- That simply means your _knights_ need extra training, not that I should remove myself. They need to get used to fighting women."

Arthur snorts. "It's not like you're in proper condition anyways. How long has it been since you last fought?"

Morgana bites her lips so hard they turn white. "I'll duel you right now. See how lax I've gotten." She jerks her glove off, but Arthur blocks her before she can slap him with it. "You shouldn't challenge people you can't win against," he taunts, pulling her in and attempting to twist her arm back. She's expecting it, though, and sweeps her leg under, making him stumble. She wrenches her hand away. "Hand-to-hand sparring is fine too," she spits out, raising her hands in the ready position. Arthur huffs, exasperated that this is not going the way he'd expected. "Morgana, I'm not going to fight you. I'm not letting you fight me, either."

Morgana snarls, "You aren't _letting_ me do anything, Arthur Pendragon." She throws a punch at Arthur, but he dodges it easily. He doesn't throw one back, however, only retorting, "You can't even keep up. You're not fit to be training right now." As she aims another blow at him, he forces himself to laugh. "You can't touch me. Getting slow, aren't you?" He deliberately taps her where he knows the stab wound is. "A page could take you right now. The great Princess Morgana, beaten by a page." He grabs onto her forearms, his strength overpowering her. He repeats, "Go back, Morgana."

Morgana's glaring eyes suddenly flash gold, and before the water barrel explodes. The wood and iron shatters into pieces, the water bursting out of its confines and flying straight at him. Arthur only just has enough time to pray that she's not actively trying to kill him before it drenches him. The water soaks his clothes, trickling down his back.

Morgana stares at him coldly, before turning and stalking off.

The other knights slowly inch back into the training area. Arthur wipes the water from his face with his hands. Merlin walks to him.

"When are you going to tell her?"

Arthur glares. "Tell her _what,_ Merlin?"

"That you love her." Merlin keeps a straight face as Arthur turns red and splutters.

"I...you….I don't _love _her!"

Gwaine snorts and even Lancelot cracks a grin. "Looks like it from where I'm standing, your highness."

"You _traitor_. I'll have you executed."

Gwaine raises his hands in a calming gesture. "I'm just stating the truth, Arthur."

Arthur barks, "Back to training." The knights grumble before resuming the drills.

Merlin stands with Arthur as he watches. After a long silence, Arthur turns to Merlin.

"Is it really that obvious?"

Merlin nods solemnly, and Arthur runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

.

But fate seems bent against his retaining his sanity and neat hair, because when he returns to the castle, he runs in on Morgana going through drills with her sword. He ruffles his hair in aggravation.

"What. Do you think. You are doing." Arthur growls.

Morgana doesn't bother to turn around and acknowledge him. She continues the drill, and a corner of his mind notes that it's the crescent moon drill, one of her favorite moves. Pushing that thought aside, he grabs her by the wrists and drags her to face him. She breathes slowly, as if to keep calm. But Arthur is already past the point of calm.

"You shouldn't be training- what do you think you're doing?" He shakes her as if to shake some sense into her. She finally meets his eyes, glaring at him as she tries to break his grip. "Let go of me or I'll make you."

"You are deliberately disobeying the healer's orders to _not exert yourself_ until he sees fit. I'm not having this." His hands are leaving red marks on her skin, but he's too angry right now to notice. Her mouth tightens as she struggles.

"Merlin!" he roars, and the magician stumbles into the room, hesitating at the sight that he is greeted with. Arthur's eyes are fiery. "Escort the _Princess Morgana_ to her chambers, and make sure she does not leave it."

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur snaps, "Now!" and he falls silent. With a look of silent apology on his face, Merlin leads Morgana out. She follows him, shooting a look of pure venom at Arthur.

Arthur slumps into a chair after she is gone, staring at his hands. They're trembling minutely- he hasn't been this angry since the quest. Noticing Morgana's training sword laying abandoned on the floor, he leans down to pick it up.

It's a well-made one, with minute carvings on the grip. Examining it more closely, he notices they are letters, forming a sentence_. Duty over all_. He grimaces.

The sentence explains Morgana well. He stares at the worn handle and dull edge. Morgana must have been going crazy these past months, thinking she was neglecting a part of her duty. The imprints on the handle showed the outline of her hands, so much smaller than his own. Used so much it has been molded to her.

Now sufficiently calmed down, he berates himself on his impulsive behavior. His actions are inexcusable. No matter how strong or capable she is, Morgana is a lady. He should never have touched her. Her face when he grabbed her comes unbidden to his mind. She must have found it confounding that he would react so. After all, she is in no way related to him, in blood or bonds. There is no reason to explain why he should be so worried.

But he is. And Arthur can't stop it, no more than he can stop that warm feeling coursing through him when she smiles affectionately at him or the twist in his stomach when she puts herself in danger yet again. It's inexplicable.

_High King of Albion,_ he thinks bitterly. _Doesn't even know himself._

He gets to his feet, still holding the practice sword. He had to ask her forgiveness and somehow find a way to keep her from training.

.

When he reaches the door to her chambers, he hesitates. She would not be happy to see him. Bracing himself, he knocks twice on the wooden door.

There is no reply.

He knocks again. And again. A full minute of knocking and he decides to forget protocol and barge in. Of course, Sarah rushes out that very moment, snapping, "If you think the bedclothes are going to fold themselves-" She stops.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Is Princess Morgana in?"

"Ah...she…" Sarah stammers, "she'll be in...but…"

"Thank you," Arthur cuts in. Sarah rushes away after a few more failed attempts at speech. He walks into the room.

No Morgana.

He looks around- he has been in her chambers but a few times. It simply isn't deemed proper for men to visit ladies' chambers.

There are very few personal effects on display in the shelves. The vases are bare of flowers. His mouth tightens. There is very little to hold her here. Only her desk seems to be well-used, her quills meticulously sharpened and a few half-written letters strewn about. Arthur is about to give into the temptation to read them when Morgana's voice rings out from one of the inner chambers.

"Sarah?"

Arthur walks over. The door is closed.

Hesitantly, he asks, "Morgana? May I come in?"

Immediately, she snaps, "Who is this?" Her voice is sharp.

"It's Arthur." Silence.

"I came here to apologize. I…" He pauses. "May I come in?"

More silence. Arthur begins to worry.

"Are you alright?"

A pause, and Morgana replies in a strained voice, "Arthur, I would very much appreciate if you left now."

Arthur leans against the door. "I...Morgana…."

Morgana's trying to regulate her breathing- whether to control her temper or in pain he cannot tell. She speaks through the door again, and her voice is nearly strangled. "Arthur, I am in the _bath_. Please leave now."

Oh. _Oops._

He jumps away from the door as if it's burned him. "I...I'm sorry. I'll...come back later."

More deep breaths. At last, Morgana answers, "you can wait in the antechamber if it's important. Otherwise, I would like if you removed yourself from my chambers.

"I'll wait."

He seats himself on one of the chambers in the antechamber. Sarah rushes in with towels, sees him, and flushes a deep red. She mutters something, and slips into the room Morgana's in. Morgana emerges a little while later, clad in a white slip and robe and her hair wet.

"Arthur, if this isn't important…"

Impulsively -and he's doing that a lot around Morgana, he realizes- he gets down on one knee, taking one of her hands. Morgana stares at him in astonishment- and she's really doing that a lot too around him. He can see the red marks he's made on her forearms, and the sight makes his heart drop. He stutters a little, before finding his voice.

"Morgana...I…"

Morgana's voice is nearly hysterical. "I swear, if you're proposing marriage to me, Arthur…"

Arthur blinks. "What?" He looks up at her, then at himself. _Oh. This does rather seem like he's proposing..._Oh. He lets go of her hand rapidly and stands up. "No. Oh, no. No. it's not that. No." Morgana's staring at him again. Maybe he's offended her?

"It's not that I _don't _want to marry you, I actually really do, but…" His brain catches up to his mouth. _Dear gods._

He takes a breath and prays that he doesn't put his foot in his mouth even more. "I...wanted to apologize. I did not treat you in a gentlemanly manner this morning."

She raises one eyebrow. "What excuse could you possibly have?"

He looks down. "I don't."

"You taunted me, interfered in my training, physically stopped me- and you don't have an excuse." She massages her temples. "Arthur, please leave." She turns away.

And he's desperate now; there's so much he wants to tell her but he can't find the words. He steps towards her, and when she turns back to face her, he kisses her.

It's not so gentle this time. He's trying to express the way it seems like his world shrinks to just her when she's in the room, the way her strength draws him in. Her lips are soft and surprised, and his own seems too rough to be allowed to touch her like this. They meld together, and Arthur thinks he's really hallucinating this time.

Morgana breaks off and fights to regain her breathing. Arthur flushes and looks away. When he gathers up the courage to look at her, she's looking at him, blushing and fingers to her lips in surprise. Her mouth forms words but no sounds come out.

Slowly, hesitantly, Arthur brings up a hand to cup her jaw. He whispers, "I'll leave you now."

His words bring her back. "No. I…" Morgana bites her lip, and looks up. "You idiot."

Arthur looks at her. She stares back, a smile slowly forming on her face. "You should have just told me."

Arthur blinks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Have it your way." Morgana smirks.

Arthur flushes. "Morgana, whatever you're thinking…"

Morgana cuts him off with a finger to his lips. "I accept your apology." She grins. "Poor Merlin nearly had a fit, he was so worried that I'd be angry at both of you forever."

He slowly grins as well. "Well, 'forever' would be very short, because we'd probably have killed each other off before long."

Morgana tilts her head. "Does this mean you won't interfere with my training anymore?"

"Not on your life."

"_Arthur!_"

* * *

><p>"Ready, your highness?" Morgana whispers to Arthur. The Pendragon standards are raised high, and the Eleven Kingdoms have gathered. It is time to begin.<p>

Arthur nods. He raises a hand, and the trumpeters blow the signal to move out. Arthur rides at the head, Morgana at his side. As the bugles grow loud, he surreptitiously takes her hand and raises it to his lips.

"Be safe, Morgana."

She smiles. "You as well."

It is too loud for conversation now, but the looks they exchange before they charge off to battle together say more than words ever could.

* * *

><p>The first time they meet, it is on a battlefield.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Ending notes: I'm sorry if the ending was disappointing- I truly did want it to be romantic, but then I realized that a) I stink at writing romance and b) the world doesn't deserve to suffer that much. I originally planned to end it with a wedding too... oh well. <strong>

**I hope you enjoyed following Arthur and Morgana's journey from being enemies, to sort-of friends, to enemies, to sort-of comrades, to sort-of lovers. Sort-of. I think the only time their relationship is ever simple and clean-cut is when they're enemies. And not even then. I truly enjoyed writing it, at least. There are so many things left undone that I'd like to write a whole complementary bits-and-pieces compilation for it, but that'd be horrific. ****I do have the vaguest flutterings for a sequel plot, but I'd like to know what you think. Should I?**

**In any case, thank you so much for all your support! Fare thee well!**

**Estele**


	21. Warpath

**AN: Hey everybody! The new sequel's out, and I wanted to make sure all the story followers were informed. Hence the new chapter. So that this wasn't _too _much a waste of time, here's the first half of the sequel, Warpath. Read the rest of the chapter at the new story! s/8984004/1/Warpath**

**Shameless self-promotion, I know. But I hope you enjoy the story!**

* * *

><p>The front of war is never as clean as the bards tell it. All meaning and ideals and hopes are crushed underfoot with each clash of the sword, with each dying breath.<p>

Arthur Pendragon has been in too many battles to ever expect anything else.

The tarnished glory of men felled and loot seized dazzle in the glow of peace, but they become a constant in war. The High King of Albion knows this, just as he knows that this war has already been stripped of its moral trappings to leave only a harsh struggle for survival.

Arthur urges his horse onwards, past the charred remains of the last skirmish. The strange fire called upon by Saxon magicians had devastated the first regiment during the battle, burning bodies past recognition, until Merlin had destroyed them and the fuel they used in turn. There seems to be little movement in the Saxon camps; another detachment has been sighted leaving for other targets, but the majority of the invasion force remains facing the Albion army entrenched in the ancient fortress of Glauchedon. And it is there that Arthur heads to now, returning from his daily reconnaissance of the front lines.

"G'damn weather," Gwaine mutters from behind as they gallop on, "the stench is stinking high."

Arthur doesn't take his eyes off the beaten road. "It's better than if it rains. Our water supplies could be tainted."

"It's sweltering," Leon replies, "Hard to believe it's already July."

The half-hearted talk about the weather continues as the small band of knights continues to Glauchedon. The fortress's beaten walls come into view soon enough, and before long they are all dismounted in the courtyard.

Arthur dismisses the knights to allow them some rest. Even if there is no hint of battle for tomorrow, he wants to make sure tiredness is not an issue on top of everything else. Merlin nods and scurries off to somewhere.

He himself goes to the battlements rising high above the walls. All Albion is a battlefield now, with separate legions of Saxon troops besieging citadels. Most of Cornwall's border fiefs dotted along the coast has already fallen, as have the Cantian citadels. The main force may be pinned down by the full force of the united army, but the Saxons have men enough to slowly conquer more and more territory. As High King, Arthur has been ordering troops of various nations to attend to the defense of separate citadels, an effort that has yielded mixed results.

He leans on the stone walls, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands to take the tension from them. The roads leading to Glauchedon are dusty- he can see them from here, outlined by the cluster of tents of camp followers. The citadel has been built to overlook a key junction of the ancient Roman roads; nobody can approach without being spotted.

A lone rider appears, galloping at full speed along the path. The figure is distant at first, but grows closer and closer until the flowing dark hair and green cloak is visible. Arthur would recognize that hair anywhere. Morgana.

Arthur turns from the battlements and strides down the admittedly numerous stairs. He is not rushing down; he's just a little eager to see her is all. But he is not taking the stairs three at a time just because he wants to be the first one to greet her. No, of course not. Even if it has been three months since he last saw her, deployed to Cornwall, and even if he'd looked forward to the weekly reports just to see her handwriting.

And that's why he's not disappointed, not even a tiny little bit- shut up, little Merlin voice inside his head- when he bursts down the final steps, winded, only to see Morgana already talking to Morgause. Because of course why on earth would he have been looking forward to talking to her alone?

He's always been excellent at being in denial.


End file.
